Delicate Ultimatum
by BloodStainsOnMyKisses
Summary: Hermione Granger wakes up in the hospital with no recollection of how she got there. In a severe state, she can be helped by no one but her doctor, whose voice sounds just a little too familiar...
1. Chapter 1

When she first woke up in a cold white room, she couldn't see much.

At the foot of her bed, she could feel a pressure she could only imagine would be Crookshanks. That cat was always following her everywhere. It was dark outside, but there was just enough light shining off the moon for her to make out machinery only typically found in hospital rooms. She couldn't remember why she had been admitted, but it must have been horrible, judging only by how heavy her limbs felt.

Her body quivered as she tried to get up, making her feel faint and weak. Her eyes could barely focus on even a window without her head pounding. She tried getting up but her head protested. So did the nurse that she hadn't noticed standing there and checking her vitals.

"Don't move sweetheart," he'd said, "You're still sore." His voice did nothing to soothe her splitting migraine. He helped Hermione get back under the warm sheets of a bed that did not belong to her. After he'd tucked her in and rechecked her vitals, he began to leave the big but empty room.

"Why am I here?" Hermione stuttered from behind him, but was too slow in formulating her sentence, and because he hadn't heard, the nurse walked out. She decided to find out for herself.

Despite how much her body ached for her to stop moving, Hermione's curiosity kept her going. Crookshanks yowled as she shifted. Hermione stood out of bed, nearly tripping on the way, and set off her heart monitor. The now spiking heartbeat refused to calm down. She managed to observe her emergency room surroundings, and that there were no other patients around. She acknowledged the cast on her right arm, and the heavy gauze around her neck and left thigh, but couldn't do much more before there were two different nurses rushing to her bedside. Hermione realized that her heart rate still hadn't returned to normal, and the monitor must have alerted the staff.

One nurse left as quickly as she had come in, the other rushed to her side to coax her into bed. "You really shouldn't strain yourself dear. We'll be bringing in the doctor right now, you can relax."

"But what happened-"

"You were involved in a Muggle road accident, Ms. Granger," a deep voice from the end of the room caught her attention.

The doctor, tall, thin, and towering, wore black scrubs under a white coat. His hair was combed back and away from his face, but it was obvious that it wasn't his usual style of choice. He had recently returned from a surgical effort, one that had exhausted his patience. In his hand he held a small book. It was a Muggle novel she was familiar with, one that could only be enjoyed by the highly intellectual. He had been trying to get some rest before she had interrupted his time, sending him racing to the emergency room.

"I do apologize, doctor," Hermione's words dragged out as the painkillers that had been injected into her arm began to take effect. She made desperate attempts to catch a glance at the physician scrutinizing her. She couldn't. To her dismay, all she wanted was to be alone, but the nurses were allowing anything but. Talking over her words, they had already begun to inform the MD of her state. Crookshanks' meowing reflected her own discontent.

He began nodding as understanding dawned on him, and he promptly said the words "Sinus tachycardia. Get her up." to stop his nurses' bantering. Hermione crouched into a sitting position. "Can I go home?" the words that escaped were tired, almost hushed. They were also disregarded by the doctor. He pressed the back of his hand to her neck and forehead, taking note of her temperature. "She's burning up."

"Malfoy?" His voice was becoming eerily familiar to her. He ignored her and only glanced at her as he removed his hand. The gears of his thoughts that began turning were almost physically visible as this theory was stretched out and evaluated in his mind.

Healer Draco Malfoy held his stethoscope to Hermione's chest, and without warning. She flinched at its coolness but otherwise did not move as she looked at the Slytherin kid skeptically. Maybe she was hallucinating.

The medic proceeded to take notes on the clipboard he took off the foot of her bed. With his constant glances at her, Hermione guessed the news would not be pretty.

"Have you been consuming too much Muggle caffeine, Ms. Granger?"

The morphine they had injected into her was almost completely clouding her thoughts, restricting her widely known-of intelligence. "Um, what?"

"Coffee, Granger."

"Oh. Yeah," she waved almost lazily, "All... time, ever... day." Her words began to slur and her eyes started to close as she slipped into sleep. Malfoy was quick to make sure she didn't hurt herself falling down to her pillow, but otherwise left her to the nurses. The last thing he said before he left was an order for a stress test and a physical examination when she woke up in the morning.

Even though he had promised himself a night of no occupation, he found himself pondering too long on Hermione Granger, and the malady that had befallen her. Much to his disappointment, he had been correct about his hypothesis regarding her heart rate increase. The best medicine he could prescribe to her was a week or two of strict bed rest in a medicinal environment. The hospital was her best choice. Malfoy wrote up the document to be filed by morning, and returned to his book. Strangely, nothing could occupy his mind as efficiently as his old schoolmate's ailment, and it was the only thing that did until the moment he fell asleep in the doctors' lounge.

* * *

**Hello all! **

**I'm hoping that I can keep up with this story. There will be several chapters. Please review to tell me what you enjoyed and what you didn't. Constructive criticism is welcome!  
**

**_I use the internet for medical research. I am in no way educated in the medicinal field__. _**

**I have no ownership over Harry Potter or its characters in any way. All rights belong to J.K. Rowling. **

**Picture also not mine x**


	2. Chapter 2

The lack of drugs is what woke her up the next afternoon. The open curtains sent in unwanted light, light more harsh on her eyes than she had ever experienced. She could remember little of what had occurred the nights before, but she was slowly becoming aware of the general idea of it:

She had met her doctor, someone who she had recognized, but couldn't currently place. She had received bad news from him, her heart had been racing irregularly, and he had questioned her caffeine habits. Together, they seemed like nothing of much sense to her, but rather only a series of random events.

Suddenly she began choking, not getting enough air into her lungs. She was forced to take long, controlled breaths under a nurrse's commands in order to get herself back to normal again.

She would have to have another conversation with this doctor.

* * *

It was during this time that the doctor Hermione was thinking about was badly cursing the husband of a woman heavily pregnant with triplets because of his insolence.

He'd been mercilessly awoken that morning by the head nurse violently throwing open the lounge curtains. He'd brushed his teeth in the kitchen sink and had only two bites of a small vending machine croissant before he got his first paging. He'd woken up on the wrong side of the sofa that day.

Work was never a bore. Today was no exception. Draco had checked up on his latest patient, the Muggle-born he had grown up with for seven years, and had officially diagnosed her. In addition to her contraction of sinus tachycardia, she had also contracted retrograde amnesia. It was the loss of the memories that were formed shortly before the injury or trauma. It was mildly possible that she might have troubles creating new memories now that her anterior temporal regions were damaged, which was the development of anterograde amnesia. Her heart problem would only be solved if the hospital managed to get down her fever, which was causing her irregularly fast-paced heartbeats. When he was done with her, he had to help a twelve year old wizard kick-start his kidneys, and break the news that returning to Hogwarts in that state could prove fatal because of enteropathic hemolytic-uremic-syndrome.

He would have to be responsible as well to inform Granger of the same thing with her job.

After their generation had left Hogwarts, much changed. Granger had left the wizarding world for a bore of a job in the Muggle United Nations field department. Potter was married and when he wasn't spending his days locking away guilty wizards and witches, he was playing around with his four kids and Weasley wife, who was carrying their fifth. The other Weasley, Ronald, had been locked up once in Muggle imprisonment for public indecency, but was settling in with a mundane Ministry job, and his wife, Lavender Brown. Judging by Granger's emergency contact details, Potter and Male Weasley were not in her life as regularly as they hoped or used to be. Draco himself had alienated himself from most of his friends, the only exception being Zabini, a fellow St. Mungo's Healer. He lead a life alone as a single father to his son, Scorpio, whose mother left them after many long hard years of battling cancer. He'd tried his best, but Draco had miserably failed in saving his wife's life.

He hadn't liked her much when they had first been arranged for marriage. She was a stuck-up brat used to getting her way, believing all below her were inferior. He didn't blame her; he'd been the same until the years before the battle of Hogwarts. Watching the lives of his peers collapse and dissipate around him taught him to appreciate life and all other humans, Muggle, Mudblood, Magical, or Squib. Over their long years of marriage he managed to help her believe in others and cherish lives, and no longer ridicule them for being born into lower families. It was only after they were equal in thought that they managed to conceive an heir for the Malfoy family. Their beautiful son was born four years after their marriage, and it was the happiest day of Draco's life. Draco had followed up on his ruined childhood dream of becoming a Healer. The desire had been fueled when he had discovered his father's regulations of abusing his mother. Draco himself had not been a stranger to his father's cruelty, and neither had many of the parents of the students at Hogwarts when Lucius had chosen to be under Voldemort's command. Because of the harshness he was treated with as a child, Draco had always promised himself, his child, and his wife that he would never lay a hand on his son or any other children he might have, and in all of Scorpio's three years he had never caught a single whiff of anger or malice from his father.

After the battle, many Deatheaters were found and placed in Azkaban for life, his father included. Being the only Deatheaters to get trials, Draco and his mother were found not guilty. The Weasley family, Potter, and Granger had come to their aid with several testimonies of their two's innocence and their lack of danger towards the Magical community and the Ministry. Many had still been wary of his presence in the beginning few years after the war, but after new information arose with proof that both Draco and Narcissa had been blackmailed into service on the threat of their lives, society began to loosen up around them. Granger had played a great part in setting his family free, but had then disappeared from the Magical world. Until that night.

It was five hours into that morning that he had been called on to visit Granger again. Her heart rate was spiking again, and the medication he had prescribed was doing little to sustain it. Her breathing was close to normal, but her vitals were dangerously low. The daily four doses of coffee, and more on stressful days, was taking its toll on her. She was shaking severely, and Draco was more than a hundred percent sure she was not cold.

"Her convulsions started about ten minutes ago, Healer Malfoy. She had troubles breathing this morning, and her breakfast did not settle." The nurse took him to the side to talk. "She threw up almost all of the food we gave her. The only thing she seems to be digesting is cold soup."

Draco took a weary look at his patient. She looked like she had fallen asleep again, but he suspected that she had passed out. "Have her tested for caffeine overdose. Quickly!"

* * *

"Malfoy?"

It was not his voice she heard in response, but instead a woman's.

"Healer Malfoy is not here, ma'am. Would you like me to call him over?"

Hermione nodded, now confirming it was Draco Malfoy who had been treating her over the day. "I would appreciate that, yes." She waited several long minutes in silence, in which she did not even bother opening her eyes. Her head pounded, and her body was numb. The last time she had tried to get up she had collapsed, so she didn't try that again. She could feel the plasters where they had taken her blood for samples. They were not giving her any more morphine, so she became achingly aware that she had at least broken one bone in that accident Malfoy had been talking about. There were stitches on her thigh. She had most definitely been in a horrible collision. She wondered if her bosses knew she was stranded in a hospital. She had made several friends in the UN who she knew were wizards. They would be able to make an excuse for her absence had they been informed.

She looked up when she heard Malfoy's voice.

"Granger," he said. "You were asking for my most glorious presence, if I was informed correctly."

"Still an arrogant ass, I see." Hermione laughed for the first time in a very long time, but it quickly faded. Her voice dropped to a whisper, and what Draco saw in her eyes was something he had not seen in a very long time: fear. It was the same look his mother got every time his father got home. "What's wrong with me?"

"You were originally brought in here because of a road accident. Your admittance here has led to us diagnosing you with sinus tachycardia, retrograde amnesia, and caffeine overdose. Those are all Muggle sicknesses, of course. You are, however, still being held in St. Mungo's because a blood test has led us to believe that you may have been poisoned by Bloodroot. We have tried the Common Antidote but I'm afraid t's not working very well to fight it off."

Hermione only nodded in response. "And the accident?"

"Occurred two nights ago on a Muggle highway between yourself and two other cars. Four died, two others injured including yourself."

"Was it my fault?"

Here Draco fell silent.

"Draco, _tell me._"

"Yes."


	3. Chapter 3

When Draco broke her the news that the accident that had pushed four lives out of this world was all her fault, it was all she could do to sob, thinking of the lives she'd taken. It was an unstoppable hysteric. The breathing rate, heartbeat, and blood pressure monitors were all spiking naturally, leaving Draco slightly miffed at having to try to block out their annoying signals, while Granger wept on.

It had been an accident on live broadcast by many Muggle and Magical news channels across the country. Draco had watched it for an hour while he had been on break. It had been truly horrible; the first car, Hermione's, spun on the ice. Draco suspected it was a convulsion or random leg muscle movement caused by her caffeine overdose, even more possibly a hallucination. He knew Hermione Granger was not a reckless driver. Her gliding over the ice made the driver behind her brake too hard and almost do the same. It nonetheless pushed against her car, forcing it to hit a vehicle in front of Granger's. Her car had flipped, she had slammed her head on the windshield, and sustained many injuries. There had been opaque gray smoke as a result of the fire started by the third car of the accident, which had violently crashed into Granger's overturned jeep. The flames led to the temporary closing of the highway, the death of a pedestrian, two passengers, and one driver. Under strict Ministry orders, Hermione, and the cat she had been transporting with her, were airlifted into St. Mungo's, where Draco had personally attended to her before he even found out who she was.

It was all Draco could do to remain standing there awkwardly. He'd had enough experience with Astoria's crying directly after their marriage to know that a woman he did not now very well did not expect him to comfort them. He, however, had a habit of doing exactly that. He'd only seen Hermione cry once. It was at the Yule Ball in Fourth Year after Weasel had upset her and reduced her to tears. He'd lent her his handkerchief, which his mother had sewn for him; it had had his initials D.M. in the Slytherin house colours. Hermione hadn't appreciated the colour, but rather poked fun at it.

She tried to hold back a laugh as he handed her his current one. It was still green and silver.

Once she'd calmed down, Draco pat her back once. He was not expecting for a rather large orange cat to jump up from under the bed. Crookshanks seemed to wipe the tears off Hermione's face with the top of his head nudging her face. "Granger," Draco started carefully, "You do understand you're breaking a lot of rules keeping this cat here." At this Hermione's face became almost offended. "You're going to have to sign a waiver to allow us to temporarily remove him from the premises and keep him in veterinarian custody, especially considering that we do expect you'll be staying here for a couple more nights."

"But, Malfoy, he's a service cat. He's been prescribed by the Muggle health department to me for depression. He needs to stay!"

Draco took a long, hard look at her, before saying, "Do not lie to me Granger, it's impossible to fool me. I have a three-year-old."

Hermione sent him a dark glare, but eventually gave in to agreement. She never had been one for breaking rules anyways.

Feeling almost guilty, Draco suggested, "Is there any possibility that any one of your closer friends or family can come to pick him up? If that's what you prefer, of course. Unfortunately I do not have any next of kin listed here in your file..."

"Oh. No. No, I don't have family." Hermione went eerily silent, playing almost distractedly with the tips of her hair.

"Granger are you-"

"It's nothing really," she began, very unconvincingly, wiping away the hot tears starting to form with vehemence. "They died ages ago. I'm over it." Her face became very clearly pained. It was the face of a person who had lost everything. She was definitely not over it.

"Granger you shouldn't put aside your pain. It's going to bottle up and one day you'll just explode and hurt yourself further. Maybe you should talk to someone."

Hermione was too busy pretending not to hear to answer him.

"Okay then. I'll be leaving to finish my fifteen-minute lunch break. I'll see you, Granger."

Hermione was very startled— and slightly guilty— to find out that he had put away the only fifteen minutes of freedom he got from the day to tend to her needs.

She would have let herself drift asleep had it not been for the rapid knocking at her door several minutes later. At the verge of annoyance she snapped, "What do you want?"

"Mithith Granger?" A tiny voice spoke, making Hermione look down beside her bed. A young, jumpy child stood by her bedside table, holding a grin so wide it made his whole face shine. His short blond hair was eagerly pushed away as the boy talked. "Hi!"

"Hey buddy, what's your name?"

Hermione at first tried to learn more about the child who obviously had the upper hand, yet as soon as she looked at him she knew she didn't have to ask. His features really were too much alike someone she knew very well. He had inherited the best of his father's physical traits, with his blond hair, gray eyes, and a pale, handsome face. Before the child had a chance to answer, his father's voice could be clearly heard from outside the door.

"Scorpius?!" Draco's familiar voice called from the hallway. "Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy, where on Merlin's blithering green earth did you run off to?"

"He's in here, Malfoy!" Hermione said when the boy didn't answer, as he was now staring in awe at the meowing cat at her feet. "Kitty," he mumbled, fingers twitching.

"Scorpius, buddy, let's leave Ms Granger in peace, yes?"

"Daddy, kitty," the small child was still whispering, pulling at his father's long white coat. "Daddy I wanna touch the kitty."

Draco sighed, a small smile settling in. "Granger? Do you think you'd be able to possibly do him the honors?"

So Hermione gave the young, eager Scorpius Malfoy the cat to hold. She showed him how to support Crookshanks, and then left him to figure out the rest by himself. It proved to be a successful decision. The young Malfoy was awestruck by the cat's comfort. She first sniffed his hands and neck, and then snuggled into his warm arms.

While the child was occupied, Hermione beckoned for his father to come closer, and said, "Say, Malfoy, how about you let Scorpius foster Crookshanks for a few days until I'm out of here? She's already so old and lazy, she won't ruin anything at your home."

"What do you say, Scorpius?" Malfoy turned to his son. "Do you want to foster Ms. Granger's cat here?"

"Whattsa foster?"

* * *

Over the following days, Hermione Granger had been seriously prodded, poked, and examined at every possible angle. There was still not much of an answer to why she was still being hospitalized after diagnosis and medication, but Healer Draco knew something was very very wrong.

Draco's guts had hardly ever failed him before. His gut feeling should be taken as law. He was very lucky when it came to instinct. So when Granger came down with sickness after sickness while in his care, Draco very greatly suspected a Magical problem. Possibly poison.

Hermione's dizziness, migraine attacks, chest pain, and hallucinations were beginning to worsen. When he conveyed his concerns of her state to Granger's employers, they were more than willing to provide her with a three week leave. Hermione herself took no part in these transactions or conversations, as the morphine they had on her worked considerably well. She was hardly ever awake anymore, but when she was, she experienced severe abdominal and chest pains. Her face was beginning to pale, and dark bruise-like circles were forming on her ribs and legs. She was starting to lose her ability to breathe by herself. By this time twelve days had passed since her admission into St. Mungo's.

Draco Malfoy sat in the chair opposite her bed, holding his head in his hands. He could not for the life of him point out what was wrong with her.

* * *

During one of the rare moments she was awake, Malfoy came to her. It was three in the morning and he was doing his rounds.

She asked for water. He provided her with some.

She drank slowly, and only with his help. She was losing strength very fast. Draco sat with her, it being the end of his round duty. She started to talk:

"How long have I been here, Malfoy?" she asked. Her voice was rasping, low, and weak.

"Almost two weeks now. You best get better now and leave, you really are keeping me busy."

She laughed at this, but quickly grew quiet again. She probably didn't know what she was saying when she then said, "How's... your mother?"

There was a silence. A very long one.

"...What?"

Along with it being hard to talk, Hermione was also finding it difficult to breathe, but she kept going, "I remember you walking away from us." She paused. "With... your mother... She did her best to protect you... She was really ... nice..."

"I will agree with you on that one, Granger. She really was. You shouldn't be talking much right now." He took a heavy sigh and then said, "You should be getting to sleep now. It's late." He got up from his seat, prepared to leave. It was only what Hermione then said that stopped him in his tracks.

"You never were going... to kill... Dumbledore, were you?" At this point she was just blabbering her thoughts, anything that would come to her. "You were... such an _annoying_ kid... Malfoy... but you were... never going to hurt a soul. You never... did."

Draco gave a sarcastic snort, "I beg to differ," he muttered. Much to his annoyance, his very high patient caught his words, and assured him that she stood by what she'd said. She took a heavy breath and continued, "You really... _didn't_. You've never... hurt me past calling me... a few... useless names..."

"Let's not talk about this, Granger." He started to walk away again, and she said to his back:

"I want to talk to _you_."

Draco turned around, questions projected on his features.

"When you said... I should talk to someone. About... my family. When I'm ready... I'd like to talk to _you_."

And the silence returned.


	4. Chapter 4

Hermione Granger sat alone on a park swing. Her small shoulders were sheltered by Draco's larger heavy suit jacket. She appeared to be a young child. She nibbled on a sandwich as she swung cautiously.

She really wasn't in the mood to eat, but the menacing glare Draco was holding against her from across the playground was enough to get her to at least pretend she was going to.

Three days had passed since Draco Malfoy had left that room. Since then, he had made sure until that moment to never directly face her while she was conscious, unless it was of the utmost importance. Her bringing up his mother, despite the lack of control she had over her speech, had not sit well with him. He had nothing to hide, yet felt nothing short of top-grade shame whenever he was reminded of his time with the Dark One.

However, when a superior medic had suggested an outdoor trip for Granger to freshen her up, Malfoy had somehow been nominated for the responsibility of her safety. It was supposed to be his day off, but he didn't complain, and had driven for thirty minutes to retrieve his son from his nursery, and take them both to the park. Scorpius sat at an adjacent swing licking his ice cream. He too was timid in his swinging, careful not to knock away Hermione's IV drip stand that stood in the sand between them. Draco had pestered her to get something simple to eat, so there she was. The food he had gotten for her tasted like sandpaper in her mouth, and every bite she took further provoked the possibility of her throwing up. Draco, from a few feet away, could see this on her face.

Draco was very particularly concerned with Hermione's case of retrograde amnesia. It was not odd when considering the trauma she went through at the accident, but it was when considering her mental health. She was perfectly healthy. It just added to the very long list of things wrong with her that he would try to fix. It was important they found out what exactly happened in that car while she was driving, to pinpoint in exactness the cause of all her diseases; she'd shown no symptoms of anything before the afternoon of the crash.

The hospital had still lot yet managed to maintain her rhythmic heartbeats, and her fever was still rising.

A day after that her results came back from the lab. The blood tests they had previously conducted proved her to be BRP positive— she had Bloodroot Poisoning. Some of it's precise effects had only recently been found, and many more were still to be found. There was no cure but prayer.

It was a deadly poison, made and used once accidentally by Seamus Finnigan in Professor Snape's Potions class to make three owls faint and implode. Snape had been very mad that day. The effects it had on the human being were still bring documented. All Draco knew was to keep her in a warm, safe environment. Above that and more worryingly, her fever had not reduced, even after fifteen days of treatment and bed rest.

"Dad!" Scorpius yelled from across the playground, his voice shrill, loud, and severely urgent.

That caught his attention, snapping Draco out of his deep dark trance.

"What? What's wrong? Are you okay?" He stood quickly, evaluating the full forms of both his child and his patient. "Granger, you're okay?"

"Can me and Mithith Granger get ice cream, please?" Scorpius asked, innocent and oblivious. "Pleaaaaase?"

Draco let out a relieved sigh, his shoulders loosening. He nodded and gestured for the both of them to go on. Scorpius leapt off his swing enthusiastically, jumping beside his father as he waited.

Draco took his patient by the hand and helped her up. She leaned on him more dependently than he'd expected. A stifled groan escaped her, expressing her pain as she began to stand. Holding her by the arm and from around her waist, Draco lead Hermione out of the large patch of sand and onto solid cement. With her free hand she pulled along her IV stand. Scorpius held on to the rod and pulled it with her.

After setting her down on a nearby bench and manually checking her pulse, Draco took his son by the hand and led him to the ice cream truck.

When Scorpius's mother had become ill, she'd begun to take him to ice cream parlours a lot less. Though they were a healthy family, Astoria had insisted on the importance of self-satisfying once every few months. Scorpius, extremely young at the time, was fixated on gratification by ice cream. When she died, the first thing his father had fed him was a scoop of ice cream. The dessert had become a classic go-to for themselves and those around them when in trying times. They'd never looked at ice cream the same again.

Draco came back to Hermione with a singular trial spoon. She took it in her mouth gratefully. Scorpius returned to them holding a kids' scoop cone, the warm air already beginning to work on melting the topmost layer. He licked at it with wild determination. He sat beside Hermione, his short legs swinging beneath him.

Draco glanced at his watch. It was almost time to get Hermione back to the hospital. He decided he'd make them leave as soon as Scorpius was done with his cone. The last thing he needed with a three year old and a sick patient was sticky ice cream-covered car seats.

"Ready to go, Granger?" he asked when Scorpius jumped up and threw the ice cream paper into a nearby trashcan. Hermione only nodded once as Draco came over to help her up. She was unable to move, however, when a huge wave of contractions hit her in the stomach. She clutched her torso as if it were her only hope in keeping her intestines in.

"Granger?" Draco was alarmed at the sudden jerky movement she made doubling over. She started shaking, almost as if she were crying, but to a more severe degree.

"Granger, I need to see your face." His tone implied his concern, but as much as Hermione tried to uncurl from her position, it was impossible with the sheer agony of the pain.

Hermione had been a tough cookie since the day she had been born. While her mother was fighting through the last term of her pregnancy, she had contracted gestational diabetes. Hermione was a small child, and was born without efficient minerals, low blood sugar, and jaundice. To top off, she had sustained multiple injuries to her person due to her size and the fact that she was born pre-term. Nonetheless, she had pulled through after treatment and long days in an incubator.

As Hermione's years passed on, she had sustained several other diseases and injuries. She had vitamin deficiency, and was smaller for her age. She was also a primary target for bullying, both in the Muggle and wizarding world. During the final war, she had been bitten, stabbed, electrocuted, and cursed too many times to count. She had scars all over her body to prove it. But even with all that experience, she didn't have anything to compare to the most painful burning sensation she felt in her lower abdomen.

"Excuse me, miss," Draco beckoned to an older lady, who'd stopped to ask if they needed help. "Dial an ambulance." He then turned his attention back to Hermione's pains.

"Granger, at least let me do a quick exam on your person. What hurts?" Draco was grasped her upper arms as she stayed doubled over on the park bench, her head in her hands.

Very weakly she mumbled, "Abdomen." Her face grew hot, and her hands tightened around her hair.

"Granger, get up and let me check it."

"I can't… I can't, don't make me move."

Draco turned back to the woman standing behind him, _"Have you called them yet?!"_ She nodded quickly. Draco then addressed his son and said, "Buddy, I need you to do me something okay?"

Scorpius was wide-eyed, horror evident on his face while he watched Hermione. Draco gave him the car remote, gesturing to the direction of their vehicle. "Go get Daddy's doctory heart-hearing thingy, okay, Bub? Go quickly, and don't let anyone stop you in the way. If you need help, yell, I'll be right here. Go, Bub, now."

Scorpius nodded quickly and ran off with the key.

"Granger? Grang— Hermione, try to sit straight. Take your time, but try."

She shook her head slowly, not causing anymore troubles to her lower abdomen. Draco sighed and held his hands, but not much later prompted, "Does it hurt more on the right or left side?"

What she then told him, in a voice so below her normal volume, caused Draco's shoulders to visibly tighten. His eyes shut closed, pinched the bridge of his nose, and mumbled under his breath one word that scared Hermione like nothing ever had before. "_Shit_."


	5. Chapter 5

The next few hours passed very quickly for Draco, but excruciatingly slowly for Hermione. Scorpius returned from the car only a few minutes before the ambulance showed up. During the time he had had, Draco had checked her heartbeats—which were irregular— through the back, and had decided to press on the ache she had on her side.

After Hermione had whispered in his ear very painfully that her pain was radiating from her right side, and a quick test with his fingers on what ended up being a swollen bump, he determined that it was very possible she had appendicitis. No tests were needed in this case to figure that out. Draco suspected the Bloodroot had begun to take its more severe tolls and had begun executing worse symptoms. As soon as this was established, he had become very worried about having to shift her from the park to a hospital, and from there to St. Mungo's as soon as possible. It would be a painful journey for her, even more so when one took into account the fact that no Muggle morphine was strong enough to subdue the pains of Bloodroot Poisoning.

Draco was a first year resident the first time he was faced with Bloodroot. Back then he was placed in the Department of Deadly Poisons. A woman had been rushed into the ward with bruising on her body and a deadly migraine. They had established quite quickly that she had a severe case of BRP. After a few hours she had developed appendicitis. They had operated on her, but not much after that she had left the world in pain. He still remembered her name. She was Elizabeth Cod, and it had been 8:46 at night when she passed, after the long hours he had worked to try and save her. After that, he had dealt with several other BRP victims. In his twelve years of experience, none had survived. He planned in making Hermione the first one to.

But what worried Draco the most was that Hermione's symptoms had further passed those of Elizabeth Cod. He made a list in his head on the ride to a nearby hospital in the back of the ambulance. _Sinus tachycardia, retrograde amnesia, bodily bruising, convulsions, hallucinations, irregular heartbeats, uncontrollable muscle movement, migraines, dizziness, excessive bleeding, and now, appendicitis. _To add to what she had to deal with, she had a fractured arm and stitches in her thigh. It was a long list of problems. The only thing Draco could think about was of how strong a woman Granger would have to be to be able to deal with that.

"Excuse me, sir," a paramedic called from beside him, and Draco looked up at him. "The name of your patient, please."

"Hermione Jean Granger."

The paramedic nodded, writing it down on his pad, along with Draco's request to move her to St. Mungo's as soon as possible.

To the normal Muggle eye, St. Mungo's was a regular hospital, with the regular departments any other hospital may have. It had a high reputation of success in the Muggle press, but while the general public was very aware of its location, none knew how to get there. It was an old Muggle Confusion spell the founder had once put on it. It was only temporarily lifted in the circumstance of a close-by Muggle seeking immediate medical attention. Draco knew this would count to be one of those cases.

When they both finally got to the hospital— with Scorpius jumping out from the front passenger's seat of the ambulance— Hermione was rushed by younger residents and nurses alike directly into the operating room, as per what Draco had ordered them from the ambulance ride there. Draco followed close behind; he pulled on a blue surgical coat a nurse passed him. He left Scorpius with her and ran after Hermione's gurney. He put on his mask, gloves and hair cover before entering the operating theatre, where three younger surgeons were waiting for him, all tools at the ready for the appendectomy. Draco waited over his patient as the anaesthetics began to take effect.

Almost an hour later, he left the theatre, pulling his mask down while Hermione was transported into a new bed in ICU. She would be resting there for the next few hours.

As soon as he got a chance to sit down to gather himself, his mind started running. Hermione was well into the more severe symptoms of Bloodroot Poisoning. It was high time he got someone in there to pray for her. Out of the six previously recorded stages others had passed through, she was on the fifth. Out of everything he'd seen BRP was the most dangerous, most fatal noncontagious poison.

"Healer Malfoy," someone called. He looked up to see a fellow Healer look strangely at him as she poured herself a cup of coffee. "I thought it was your day off today."

Draco shook his head as he answered, "My patient slipped into critical condition while I had her out… Could you pass me a cup on the way here, please?"

She nodded and passed him a straight up black coffee, the way he preferred it. He took his first sip despite how hot it still was. The healer beside him was expecting for him to spit it up, but to her surprise he barely flinched. Seeing as she was his only problem and he had no current obligation toward any other patients that day, he hastily finished his cup and took off to the ICU.

Much to his surprise, Scorpius was right outside in the foyer, fiddling with his fingers while he waited in a chair much too large for him. He made odd airplane-like sounds as he played, but respected the rules of the ward and did so quietly. A nurse on break from the maternity ward sat with him, perusing through a magazine. The pair of father and son acknowledged one another with little more than a smile and nod, and Draco slipped into the Intense Care Unit.

Two nurses had just completed the task of putting her into the bed when he arrived. They informed him of her vitals and handed the clipboard over to him. He spared her short glances as he began the note taking. Her breathing was fine. From what he'd seen that afternoon, her case of amnesia was ceasing to be a problem. Though her heartbeat was the closest he'd seen to normal in quite some time, her bruises were still forming, and existing ones that he could see without disturbing her were deepening in colour. Without realizing that he was now staring at her, more specifically, at her bruises, Draco could only dwell on one thing. It was odd that his memories of his past would resurface at this exact moment in time, but it did.

_He had it coming._

Draco was thinking of his father.

The bad bruising and swelling he had had to deal with daily. That was what he was reminded of. He stared at Hermione's bruises and that was what came to him. Everyday his father would hurt him, in all ways possible. Physically, mentally, verbally, emotionally.

_He had it coming._

The day Draco was born was one of the happiest days of his father's life. Not because he had just held his firstborn son in his hands for the first time. Because he now had a fresh plaything. Before his birth and during his mother's pregnancy, his father abused her. Constantly. It was the year after Lucius's marriage to Narcissa when he began to hurt her. She had been surprised he hadn't touched her before that. Mostly his reasons were her inability to bear him an heir. Soon later, when she first announced the pregnancy, he stopped. Then as it dawned on him his soon-to-be title of father, he began again. Many times Narcissa found herself at risk of losing her baby boy. She believed as soon as he was born, that Lucius would snap into docility. If she had known otherwise, she would have had her baby aborted before Lucius got a chance to touch him.

_I had it coming._

He had used both his hands and his curses to hurt her until she was forced into early labour at seven and a half months. Draco was born too early, and too small. To add to prematurity, he had a low birth weight, and couldn't breathe on his own until he was two weeks old. His mother was warned that he could die before he reached age three because of inconsistent breathing problems. To the current day, Draco still used an oxygen circulation system to help him breathe.

"_HE HAD IT COMING!"_

"_Lucius he's a child, let him be!" Narcissa battled with her husband to let their son go. When Draco's homeschool teacher-by-hire had come around, he had pushed her. For all the years she had taught him, it was by physical pain. He'd pushed her, and she'd tripped over the rug, and tumbled into Lucius. He was furious at his son. That was the first time he'd struck him. He was four years old. _

"Daddy?" Scorpius called. His head hung out from behind the door that separated the ICU and waiting room.

"_LUCIUS HE'S A CHILD!"_

"Daddy?"

_He'd struck his mother too._

_That was only the first of too many times._

"Healer Malfoy!" the nurse's voice broke through Draco's horrible trance. He stood up from the chair he wasn't aware he'd sunk into, brushing away the tear on his face, to address his boy outside the door.

"Yeah, Bub?"

"I'm really hungry, Daddy."

Draco nodded quickly, leaving Hermione and taking his son's hand. "Let's go, Scorpius."

He led his son to a Muggle coffee shop nearby. He got Scorpius a sandwich to fill him until dinner, and a hot chocolate to go. For himself he got only a coffee.

They sat at a small table and consumed in silence. In the middle of one large bite, Scorpius looked up at his dad and smiled. It was a big smile that warmed his father's heart. For the first time in some time, Draco smiled with him. Draco pondered on how precious it made his kid look when he held his sandwich with both hands, with legs swinging so wildly below him it almost hit him a few times. His recent flashbacks to his time with his father made him appreciate his son so much more, and swear again to never hurt his child.

* * *

By the time the two had gone back up to the hospital to visit Hermione, she was beginning to wake. The anaesthetics were starting to wear off, and her pain was becoming more apparent. She had no one by her side until Scorpius ran up to her, asking her if she needed anything, Mithith Granger.

Her voice was hoarse, and her eyes tried to adjust to the bright lights. She replied simply with, "Water." Draco got her some, helping it into her hand.

Soon after, she began to drift off again, after Draco informing her that it was probably best that she did. Sleep caught up to her quickly.

The serene look Hermione had on was one that he had never seen before. In Hogwarts, she was always stressing on essays, projects, books, and spells. Before school could end, she was burdened with the rest of them; the pressing issue they had called the Battle of Hogwarts had taken its toll on her. She had grown up much too quickly. They all had.

After that passed and Voldemort was defeated, she was pictured as one of the Golden Trio that helped save the wizarding world, but she had never been pictured peacefully.

Today she was peaceful.

For that Draco was glad, but was concerned over how long that was going to last.


	6. Chapter 6

The loud beeping of his pager woke Draco two days later in the doctor's bunks, urgently signalling for him to visit the first ER patient of the day shift.

For the past six years Draco had been placed as chief resident of the ER and trauma surgery division of St. Mungo's Hospital. He had dealt with patients complaining of the smallest symptoms, and many times personally ended up having to diagnose them with higher, more problematic levels of disease. He as a doctor and healer had come to expect the worst of situations, while only observing the most innocent and benign of indicators. He had found himself in similar context with Granger and her poison case. The familiarity of such expectations had begun to change him as a person. He and his late wife had begun noticing this change, one that not only caused himself to be prepared for the worst of diseases, but for the worst in people. This was why he was very skeptical with his newest case.

His patient was a young girl, trying to avoid eye contact with him as her mother stared at Draco drawing stitches on her arm.

"So, bub," Draco addressed the girl, "How'd you hurt yourself?" It was a surprise to him when the girl kept silent, and her mother interfered swiftly, "She fell off her bicycle." That was the end of her short, cold statement. She didn't give any further explanation, and her face showed no signs of the compassion normally felt for one's own child in pain.

Being a healer of many years, Draco knew utterly and completely that the scar the girl was going to bear her entire life was not the effect of a mild biking accident. He began speculating the worst, but continued to silently bandage the girl's wound. The child didn't seem to want to talk to him, looking like she risked potentially disclosing a heavily guarded secret. Draco knew that feeling. He'd felt the burden of it himself as a child.

But he did, of course, only have speculation.

He quickly finished off with his sutures and pulled his gloves off, disposing of them near the door. He dismissed the patient, but did not clear her as fit to leave the hospital. He told the child's mother as he left the room not to leave without the clearance, and to wait back for more results. Then he went up to his friend, colleague, and favourite nurse Healer Blaise Zabini.

Blaise excused himself from the intern he was talking with to go up to Draco, who wasted no time in telling his friend what was on his mind, "Listen, I think we're going to have to call child services on this one."

Blaise pulled him by the arm, away from the prying ears of the general public. "Which patient, _and are you sure?_"

Draco nodded quickly, saying, "The sutures and fractured wrist in Trauma 3. It's speculation, but if anyone should know, Zabini, it's me."

Blaise nodded to him, pat his shoulder once, and left to check the situation. While he tended to that Draco set his concentration to his next patient, coming in through ambulance for continual weakness and recurring regurgitation. She was admitted to ER 2.

Quickly giving the patient a once-over, Draco turned his attention to the person who rode the ambulance ride with her—the boyfriend— seeing as the patient herself looked in no decent shape for conversation. Draco wrote as his questions were answered: She was a twenty-three year old female, Nora Scott, with no allergy and top-notch health. Her symptoms were spontaneous and had started the day before.

Draco printed on several possible diagnoses before excusing himself for the next patient, ordering scans before leaving.

During the span of the day Draco treated many incoming clients. It was a job that required constant alertness, on point reflexes and the ability to quickly respond to the situation at hand.

Draco could very confidently admit to all those qualities. Yet unfortunately for him, they were not natural gifts. They were, rather, unpleasant things he had had to learn from spontaneous training his father's abuse provided him. It was these same skills that had gotten him recruited into the Hogwarts' Slytherin Quidditch team. It wasn't a pleasant time gaining those qualities.

Over the course of the day he had to deal with a young boy's exploding cauldron accident, a woman's irregular bone regrowth (which she had not allowed to properly heal after a Healer regrew it for her), and another teenager's broom mishap (she would have had to get her knee replaced and be magically induced with painkillers due to her allergy to physically-induced ones).

The day continued in similar routine, and before he knew it Draco was nearing the beginning of his first break.

He immediately sought out Blaise and the news he may have been carrying of the potentially mistreated child.

Blaise had separated the mother from the girl, urging for the parent to await acknowledgment on discharge papers, while in reality only hoping to speak with the child in solitary questioning. He had picked up on suspicious answers from the young girl, tearing up his hope that he wouldn't be required to report the mother. He informed Draco when he asked that they would be arriving shortly, along with a bonus of Granger's requested Ministry officials to take a report on the confirmed BRP case.

Finding his answers fulfilled, Draco flopped onto the couch in the middle of the doctors' lounge, making himself comfortable in between some of his colleagues and his questionable decision of a lunch. It was at this time that another Healer pushed up the volume of the news channel.

"..._fogged up as passers-by also got caught up in the commotion. Witnesses and firefighters at the scene confirm what seems to be a tragic ship accident. A majority of those on board are of the nation's military. There has been a reported of thirty two injured and eighteen dead so far. Paramedics are arriving swiftly to transport victims to nearby hospitals..." _ Photos of the scene and some victims flew by, stopping at one picture of the deceased man.

The photo dissolved into the screen just as one of their nurses opened the door to break them news of more emergency patients. There were three hospitals close to the location, St. Mungo' the closest. All professionals of all training levels were called on to help.

"Code Orange!" The chief resident yelled into the room. All interns and some surgeons were paged to diagnose medical emergencies and retrieve victims from the field of the mass casulaty. Draco was of the selected number.

He suited up with the others in the on-call room, bolstering essentials onto his belt before securing himself into a red medical jacket. It was going to be a cold and rainy night that night.

The journey to the scene had doctors on the edge of their seats; they had been told to keep an open mind before being shown the damage. It was a tragic scene. Any words Draco could use were only understatements. They were told it was bad. Not this bad.

Blood covered the surface of the entire dock. All new help stood frozen at the doors of the ambulance they had unloaded from in shock.

Once Draco recovered he said "Stand strong. Everyone here requires your assistance." He then looked at his interns squarely in the eyes and reminded them; "Work fast. Mark the victims with triage tags in order of emergence. Red for critical, yellow is delayed, green for minor. Black for morgue. All symptoms on the back of the tag."

"But… Healer Malfoy?" an intern called from the back of the ambulance. "Where do we start?"

Even Draco didn't know how to answer her.

* * *

Hermione woke up in the ICU in the middle of the evening with the urge to regurgitate.

She tried her utmost best to keep a refined front, but was forced to lean over the side of her bed, and threw up onto the floor.

Her head was beginning to spin, and before she knew it her heart rate had spiked again. She struggled to steady herself, hoping to find the chance to call a nurse. The Wizarding World's anaesthetics were had begun to wear down, pulling back her Bloodroot symptoms at full force, having only been partially subdued. She reached out to grab the rail of the bed, but her hand slipped. She tried again but to no avail. She hit her head into the rail and began to crash.


	7. Chapter 7

Hundreds of casualties were brought in, families rushing behind them quickly and in desperation. They received the support and help they needed in finding their injured loved ones. To the dismay of some, they were told to check other hospitals. To the horror of others, they were forced to speak final goodbyes to ears that couldn't hear them anymore.

By the end of the shift, everyone was drained— physically, mentally, and emotionally. After the night they'd had, it wasn't hard to be. Some went to check up on old patients, who had been pushed back to lesser attention while the fatality was being taken care of. Others retired for the night, either heading back home or promptly falling asleep in the on-call room, pagers turned to silent.

Draco – tired, hungry, and pushed to his limits – remained at the site, even as a fresh batch of teams paraded in. His fingers and lips were blue from the cold, and yet he pushed on. He was one of only three doctors from St. Mungo's to do so. He'd sent tens of people to the ER with the interns, ranging from the mildest broken bone to the severe neck dislocation, but it wasn't enough. Not to him.

A search-and-rescue official stopped him on his way to another patient on the ground, before he could diagnose her, and forced him to grab a bottle of water. "Come on, mate." He said, "You really look like you need it."

It took some time to convince him, but as Draco finally took a seat at the back of an ambulance for a short drink, his pager buzzed.

He took a long swing from the bottler before fully addressing it. He spared a quick look at it from his belt strap, hoping he would have the ability to ignore it. He didn't.

_911 Hermione Granger. Code Blue. 911 Hermione Granger._

* * *

Code blue was announced.

Protocol was carried out. Being the nurse to be administering shocks through the defibrillator Zabini worked as hard as he could to get her heart to jumps start, but Hermione Granger's flat line did not stop running.

"_Page Healer Malfoy, STAT!" _he yelled to an intern. She nodded quickly and ran to satisfy her orders.

"Clear!" he called, pressing the pads to either side of Hermione's chest. They shocked her again, and her body arched, falling back onto the bed lifelessly. They waited for the heart monitor to calm. It responded with the same monotonous bleep. "Come on, Granger, come on! Clear!"

At the same time Draco was leaving the scene, with last ambulance on its way out to St. Mungo's Hospital. He dialed Zabini and balanced the phone on his shoulder, working single-handedly to buckle the crying baby in front of him to the gurney. She was hardly more than a few months old, squirming in her loosened blanket. She had a bleeding tear on her left arm, in desperate need to be sewn shut. Her mother had been pronounced dead only ten minutes before. However cold or in pain Draco was, the baby was five times worse.

Another nurse picked up the phone, a woman named Susanna. She communicated on Blaise's behalf when she told him that Hermione wasn't doing very well.

"DRIVE _FASTER_!" Draco yelled to the front. The vehicle immediately sped up, almost swinging Draco to the back of the van. He pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. Heart failure was the sixth and final stage on record. There was little he could do at that point. He heard Susanna continue, saying, "We've shocked her eight times already; she's not responding."

"How did this happen? She wasn't supposed to go into cardiac arrest yet!" he demanded, trying to adequately place a heating blanket onto the child's small body.

"When we found her, she'd thrown up on the floor, and had already beginning to crash."

"What do you mean, '_when you found her'_? She's a critical patient in the Intense Care Unit, _why was someone not there at all times_?"

The baby wailed louder as ambulance rushed past a speed bump, her head snapping up and hitting the gurney with a thud.

"OI, WATCH IT, BUDDY!" Draco, as one could tell, was absolutely infuriated.

The hospital was now only a few kilometers away by then. When he had finished his stitches on the baby —five of them— he tucked her arm into a bandage, and retied her blanket around her snugly. Holding the heating pads, he cradled her, close to his chest to ensure that her body temperature rose evenly.

He had been in a similar situation before, cradling his own child at the back of an ambulance. He'd been with his wife, and at the time their son had only been a few minutes old, and didn't have a name yet. Astoria had been forced to deliver in the ambulance, with only her husband and an under-trained paramedic by her side. The couple had originally planned for a C-section the next week, as they were told she wouldn't be able to handle childbirth with her slightly narrower-than-average hips. Any efforts at a natural birth had the 58% chance to have resulted in the death of their little boy, which was a risk they were most definitely not going to take.

But then her contractions had began too early and her water had broken on their kitchen floor. He had called in for an immediate response ambulance to take them straight into surgery, but they were too late. Halfway through the ride to St. Mungo's, she was crowning, and even though he had told her earlier not to, Draco urged her then to push. She shook her head, adamant to keep her baby in for only a few minutes more. Fear gripped her as she had held on to her husband's hand, and though she tried not to, her body naturally reacted to the situation. Their small but healthy baby boy was born, wailing as he entered the world. They had been very lucky that day. Draco, on the wet and bloody floor of the ambulance (beside the horribly terrified paramedic), held his son and cried with him.

Draco wanted to smile as he thought of that time, much simpler than it was right now. It was just him, his wife, and his newborn. Nothing else had mattered.

But now it was not his healthy child he was holding; he was holding a sick baby girl with no parents, on his way to potentially say goodbye to an old Hogwarts classmate, after almost seven years if malice and twelve of silence.

The ambulance stopped in front of the ER, sending nurses flying out of the doors to help. Draco just waved them off, clutching the tiny sleeping body to his own and ran for the IC Unit.

By the time he got there, a long gurney was being wheeled out of its doors.

Draco's heart stopped.

A bloodied white sheet covered the still and lifeless body, on its way to the hospital morgue. Nurse Susanna stood at the head of the bed, pulling it along with her silently. She shared with Draco a look of disappointment before she continued on her way.

There was nothing he could do for Hermione Granger now.


	8. Chapter 8

That was it. Hermione Granger was dead and gone.

He'd just witnessed his eighth patient die of Bloodroot Poison. It was beyond forgivable. He'd been so determined, _so sure_, that she would be the one to make it. To break through.

"Oi, Drake!" Zabini called from inside.

Draco entered the cold ward, sullen and depressed. Zabini clapped him on the shoulder, looking at the baby but deciding not to ask, "I'm really sorry, man. I knew how much it meant to you that Granger survived this. I did the best I could."

Short, raspy laughing sounded from the bed behind him. Draco grimaced and was close to letting out all his fury out at the psychopathic patient who dared laugh at the death of a patient, when he turned and was met with none other than the muggle-born witch herself. She was white and paler than she had been before, the only source of colour being the dark circles under her eyes. She had a saline injection in one arm, a medication sack on the other. She was a tired wreck, but she was alive.

"The hell_, Granger_?! Merlin's hat and a pocket of soup, what the fuck, man. "

Blaise behind him laughed, clutching his stomach, making his way over to high-five his patient as Draco took a seat beside the bed. The baby shifted and got comfortable before quickly settling down.

"Aww…Is that a babyyy?" Hermione cooed craning her head to see. It was difficult to do much else, with her body still recovering from electric administrations.

Draco looked at her like she was crazy, "Do you mean to say that you let me think my patient had _died _while under _my responsibility, _and all you're concerned with is if _I'm holding a baby?_ No, it's a very short man; _of course it's a baby!_"

"Aw," she smiled, "Were you concerned, Malfoy?"

"Obviously, Granger. _Obviously._ With you in my charge I have no choice but to fear for your life. It's my job as your doctor." He paused, before continuing, "Speaking of, I need to let you know that today you went into surgery to have your appendix removed."

She nodded slowly, and the room was silent before she decided to ask, "You carried on without my authorization?"

Blaise looked at Draco, and slowly backed out of the room, his hands up as if he had had nothing to do with that part of the procedure.

Draco himself was a little flustered by the question, assuring her, "Yes, but if I waited any longer, your appendix would have burst. It would have spread infection into your organs, and you wouldn't have been alive to have this conversation today. I do apologize for looking over the consent forms, I really do, but you were in desperate need for – "

Here Hermione waved her arm and shook her head at him, stopping his apology, "No, don't apologize. Thank you. I was actually meaning to ask something of you in regards to that."

Stunned, Draco nodded, "Yeah, sure. Anything."

"I need you to sign a contract for me. It states that during any visits to St. Mungo's that you make any and all medical decisions for me, so long as I am unable, unskilled, or unstable enough to do so myself. I know it's asking a lot of you, and I understand that you're incredibly busy these days, but I trust you to do this."

More surprised than he had been before, Draco simply nodded. He carefully pulled a pen out of his coat pocket, as to not wake the baby, and signed a form Hermione handed him from her bedside. She stared at his arm for a long second as he jot down his initials at allotted areas, before shaking her head and looking back at his face and smiling.

Draco was about to say something further when he was cut off by a sharp knock at the ward's glass door. The pair turned their heads from to conversation to see two Ministry officials waiting to enter, Blaise in the lead. Confused, Hermione pulled a face, but Draco only sighed in discontentment as Blaise let them in. He too made a sound of disapproval as they were ushered in.

With a smile that covered up his rage, Draco got up to shake their hands, introducing himself, "I'm Healer Malfoy, the doctor looking over Ms. Granger's case. Tell me, gentlemen what can I help you with today?"

Anyone who didn't know Draco wouldn't have seen it. Hermione herself was surprised she noticed, and when she looked over at Blaise it was confirmed. Draco was definitely angry. The Ministry men didn't seem to notice, the older of them saying, "Well, Healer Malfoy, we were called to ask a Ms. Hermione Granger on her medical health and Bloodroot Poisoning. We were told it was a matter of security."

Draco only nodded as he listened, laughing almost sarcastically to his shoes as they continued. He then looked them straight in the eye and asked straightforwardly: "Why are you so late?" Now the anger was beginning to become evident to the officers. "You were asked to visit her over _two weeks ago,_ and today she nearly died, so tell me, what if she had? Does the Ministry think WE'RE RUNNING SOME KIND OF ACT as to send their assistance in _two weeks_ AFTER AN EMERGENCY CALL, especially on _a BLOODROOT POISONING case?_"

Draco was fully yelling now, somehow managing to look viciously frightening while cradling a baby girl who was loudly sucking on his thumb.

"Well, Mr. Malfoy, we're here now, so we'll just get to it. I do deeply apologize both to you and Ms. Granger—" he took a moment to send an apologetic smile to Hermione. She smiled right back. "–- on behalf of myself and my colleague." They younger officer said, stammering.

"Go right ahead, sir, and make sure it doesn't take you _two fucking weeks_ to do it." Draco mumbled, loud enough to hear.

The more experienced man came over to Hermione's bed, notepad at the ready. She sat up to allow him to properly address her. He cleared his throat and spoke, "I do apologize for the delay, Ms." Hermione nodded once and he continued. "Bloodroot is a very controlled substance here in the wizarding world; however the same cannot be said for the Muggle world. Knowing this, and knowing that you were in a Muggle area when your fatal accident occurred, we suspect foul play and deliberate poisoning, to kill, obviously. Do you know who could plan on poisoning you?"

Taking in the question with a sharp inhale, Hermione nodded slowly. "I do have a few ideas, yes."

"Care to share them?"

Hermione gave an apologetic smile, more of a tightening of the lips than anything. "I'm afraid I can't say – that information is private and confidential to the Muggle UN only."

"I suppose the reason for it is confidential as well?" he pried. At this Hermione only nodded.

"Well." He said. "Seeing as you are well and alive– "

"I bloody well beg to differ," Draco snorted.

"—while someone was hoping to rid of you, and that you've now become the longest ever surviving victim of BRP, I'm assigning a witness protection team, to the entire ward, to follow you throughout the day, until we can find who did this." He nodded once, sneered at Draco, and left with his partner.

With every word the Ministry man said, Hermione became more depressed. By the time he'd left, she was just beginning to tear up. When Blaise left to close the door behind them, she had let them fall.

She held her face in her hands, sobbing. Draco hadn't noticed — his back having been to her— until he turned to face her. Her shoulders shook, her face covered, but her ears red. Her tears were beginning to leak through the cracks in her fingers, trickling down her elbows and plopping down onto her hospital gown.

Draco handed the baby over to Blaise, silently putting his arm around his patient's shoulder. She leaned into his arm, her tears refusing to calm. It wasn't easy realizing how close to death you really were. "Granger, come on, stop crying."

He remembered Astoria's grief when she had learnt of her condition. Breast cancer at the age of twenty-nine. She'd cried for weeks. It was before they had even conceived. They had only been married two years. They'd hated each other then. But he had stood by her, comforted her, and supported her. She'd wanted kids, and a happy marriage. So far she had had neither. But he promised her he would give it to her; everything she wanted would be hers if she survived the cancer.

And she did, at first. They'd cut of her left breast, and had her wait weeks for a prosthetic. She'd hated it, and cried herself to sleep every night. Then they had worked it out one night. They'd talked and confessed things to each other they had never said before. And they began to fall in love. He told her she was beautiful so many times, and eventually she'd believed him. They had their baby boy. They worked through the tough breastfeeding. Then they learnt she'd contracted it again. This time, she didn't cry for her death. She cried for her love, her baby, and the thought of having to leave them all alone. She'd strived through the radiation and the chemotherapy…

_Chemotherapy. That was it._

In front of him Hermione still cried on. The baby girl had begun as well, feeling the difference of balance between Blaise's arms and Draco's. "Granger," he whispered, but she didn't hear. He took her by the shoulders and hoisted her off of him. It grabbed her attention quickly enough.

"_Granger_. I know how to save your life."

* * *

**I don't understand how I belted out two chapters in one day. It seems like it's going to be a one-time thing, so please don't get your hopes high. **


	9. Chapter 9

Chemotherapy. That was her way out.

Granted, the procedure required testing. He couldn't just shoot up a patient with chemicals and expect it to work without proper experimentation.

His theory was that the Bloodroot in the situation would act as the malignant growth of a cancer patient, the chemicals used to shrink the surface area of it to minimalize harm. The poison itself, after the sixth stage, formed into a similar kind of tumour. It was a terrible situation to be the first doctor to carry on with the seventh step of the art poison, as smart as he was, because he had no idea how to move forward. They were on uncharted territory with the most destructive poison of the wizard world, and he wasn't willing to put this patient's life on the line.

The morning after the Ministry's officials left the pair in the ICU, Draco personally went to Hermione to collect a blood sample, and check up on her multitude of stitching sites. If he remembered correctly, she required the immediate removal of the sutures on her thigh and neck, and a check up on her hip from after the appendectomy.

He knocked on the glass before sliding it open, his way of informing her of his presence. It did him little good; she was still in sleep's arms, resting quietly. It was unclear at first, but tear streaks still marked her cheeks, her under-eyes red and swollen. It became evident that her night had been spent in tears, fearing her fate if Draco was unsuccessful in proving his hypothesis correct.

He debated with himself on whether or not he should wake her, wondering if she had gotten enough sleep the night before to deem it polite to do so.

He himself had gotten little rest, in between ensuring the baby – Jane Doe's – safe placement in the maternity ward's child care sector, and getting home late at night to Scorpius's tears. He had been asleep with Narcissa when he returned, in the guest chambers he had provided his mother, but awoke with fears of a nightmare involving Astoria. It was difficult to understand him, and it was he could do to offer Narcissa some rest when Draco took his child into his own bed with him. He'd washed his son's face, and cradled him until they both ended up asleep. A half hour later when Narcissa got up to check on them, she covered them with a warm blanket that smelled too much like Astoria.

Narcissa had also noticed her son's harsh breathing. Being asleep and unknowing, it was a dangerous circumstance for Draco to have been in. His mother pulled out his oxygen circulation system from behind the bedside and placed the mask over his mouth, refusing to leave until she had ensured his breathing had returned to normal.

His pager had rang twelve minutes before his alarm did, forcing him to carefully pry his arms off his boy and get ready for work. He'd apparated to the outside of the hospital doors, not entirely ready to start his day.

So the decision was made to wake Hermione Granger up. He put his warm hand on her cold jaw, slowly and softly as to not startle her. Her eyes squinted before opening, looking at him with confusion.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" She groaned, her eyes once again closing, her body turning so her back faced him. She pulled the covers over her head determinedly.

"Your blood," he said firmly, grabbing her attention. She didn't move, but made an odd sound as though she were whining.

He walked around the bed to face her and yanked the blankets off of her. She moaned, tired, and not noticing that she was covered in a layer of her own blood.

"Granger…"

"What?"

"You're bleeding."

Her eyes snapped open, staring at him, then her sheets. She tried to sit up hurriedly, but Draco's firm hand on her shoulder restricted her from doing such a thing. "Don't move." He ordered. She nodded, frozen in place.

"A personal question, if I may?" Draco asked.

Hermione only shook her head, knowing his question, "It's not my period, Malfoy, that's not due for another week and a half."

Draco nodded, quickly writing on his notepad. "Does anything hurt? This much blood loss should cause at least a little bit of pain."

Bewildered that she didn't realize the lack of pain, Hermione looked down to evaluate her body. She shook her head again, "Nothing hurts."

Her doctor raised an eyebrow, knowing that that wasn't a good sign. Her body was in shock over the blood loss, shutting down her pain receptors. Judging by the amount of blood that seeped into the mattress, it was a large cut. Possibly even her stitches reopening.

He asked her if he could take a look at her wounds. She didn't look quite comfortable, but consented with a go-ahead nod anyways. Her neck was fine. In fact, the injury had healed beautifully. She would have minimal scarring on that one. The stitches only needed to be removed, but it wasn't life threatening. He looked at the set she had gotten, newly, from her appendectomy. It was just beginning to heal perfectly normally.

He wanted to move down to the third and final set of sutures, but Hermione clutched her dress shut. He looked up at her, confused. Her face was brushed a light pink, her eyes avoiding him. She cleared her throat once, staying silent. She looked positively mortified.

He understood, hastily removing his hand from where it had been on her thigh. "Do you want me to find you a female doctor, Granger?"

She cleared her throat again, but nodded quickly. He got up to his pager, which he'd left by her ear, and paged one of his female interns, Kayla Flynn, to come in as fast as she could. He decided it was a good chance to learn something, seeing as it was most probable that these sutures had burst open, leading to the excessive bleeding.

She came in running, almost breathless to satisfy her attending's call.

"You called?" She said, and Draco nodded. He had taken a seat beside Hermione's bed, positioned in an angle as to not be able to see what she didn't want him to.

"Tend to Ms. Granger's stitches, Healer Flynn, and tell me what you see." The intern nodded, bending over Hermione to lift her gown. Her eyes widened, but she didn't say anything, trying not to cause alarm. She looked up at her attending – Draco – as if crying for help.

Hermione looked over the silent exchange, gripped with fear. "What, what's wrong? Malfoy?" She looked at him, eyes wide.

Draco stayed calm, ignoring the muggleborn he grew up with. He addressed Kayla, "What do you see?"

"Um," the young woman stared at the wound, unable to formulate the correct words. "Uh… it looks blue, maybe?"

"Blue, _maybe_?"

"No, blue. Definitely blue, sort of purple."

Draco grabbed and held Hermione's hands in his own, confusing her, and almost causing her to blush. He didn't notice, staring at her nails. They were a dark blue, and too cold.

"And, uh, the skin hasn't healed very well, it's red. And swollen. It's bleeding." Her sentences became faster as she tried to keep up with all she was seeing, close to rambling. "There's too much blood loss, and uh, I think it's still going."

Alarmed, but trying to keep up his calmed front as to not alarm his patient, he said, "Apply pressure. Now, Flynn, apply the pressure before she loses more blood."

Kayla nodded and complied. She pressed her glove-clad hands onto the cut, trying to staunch the blood flow. Hermione cried out in pain, pushing herself into a sitting position. Meanwhile Kayla looked at Draco and shook her head, "It's still flowing."

"Granger, lay back down. Don't get up, for Merlin's sake! Now, tell me do you feel dizzy or lightheaded– ?"

She couldn't hear him. She collapsed in her bed, her forehead glistening.

He pulled off his stethoscope from around his neck, moving fast to check her heart rate.

Too fast.

"Uh, Healer Malfoy?"

"What?"

Kayla looked at him with wide eyes. "Sir, her, um, _thing_ is bleeding."

"Her _what?_ You're a doctor, Flynn, get on with it."

"Sir, there are signs of vaginal bleeding," Kayla looked uncomfortable still as she said it. "Is she… is she going into hypovolemic shock?"

Draco nodded, "The symptoms line up, both with internal and external bleeding. Raise her legs, tourniquet the bleeding one. I'll page Zabini to get the epinephrine. _Stay with her._ Don't let her out of sight, you hear me?"

With that Draco ran to retrieve two packs of O+ blood from the bank available at hand. He told himself not to forget to sign in that he'd done so later. The guards outside the ward watched him, staring at him as though he were crazy. He didn't spare them a second glance.

By the time he'd returned Blaise had shot her up with a dose of epinephrine, which would assist her heart in pumping more efficiently. He hooked her up to one pack of the blood to start off with, watching it enter her body, much too slowly.

'_At this rate,'_ Draco thought, '_she's going to die for real.'_

* * *

**Guys, I really think I'm on a roll here. No joke. **

**I think I may just be a little too bored, but chapter 10 coming up in a few hours!**


	10. Chapter 10

Four hours and three bags of blood later, Hermione woke up.

By then the sun had been burning for almost half a day, streaming in through the large window on her right. Draco was beside her, helping himself to a glass of water from her bedside. His feet were propped up onto the foot of her bed, and he hadn't noticed her consciousness yet. His face was buried in a book while he waited.

Once again, it seemed, Hermione had taken up the entirety of his break.

"Malfoy, what are you doing here?" She mumbled.

Putting the book down, and pushing his glasses further up the curve of his nose, he snorted. "I work here. What are _you_ doing here?" She saw the humorous glint in his eyes.

"Isn't that the question of the day. For all I know I should be dead. Yesterday."

Draco flipped his book onto the bed. "Don't be like that. You survived. Rejoice."

"Don't feel like it."

"Well, you should." He got up to sit in front of her on the mattress. "You just helped us figure out the seventh and eighth stages of BR Poisoning, and how to treat them."

Hermione only gave him a confused look, something she was doing very often these days. "What do you mean?"

"Well. The seventh stage was the anemia, which actually lead to the eighth, internal and external bleeding. Now, I've taken a blood sample while you were stable enough and sent it to the lab to test it out with cancer medication. Turns out, chemo helps kill BR cells. You're in luck, you may just be the first ever survivor of this poison."

Hermione started crying.

Draco sighed, then cried out in surprise as she yanked his jacket and pulled him in for a hug, wrapping her arms around his head. He only pat her on the arm and let her, saying, "Your bouts of chemotherapy start tomorrow. Make sense?"

She nodded, letting him go to wipe her tears. "Thank you so much, Draco." She said in between sniffles.

"It was my pleasure." He looked at her and smiled, but it dropped quite quickly as he saw her bandages. "Now, actually, I need to fix your stitches, I totally forgot."

"Idiot," Hermione laughed.

"I'll need you to sit still, okay, Granger?" she nodded in response.

Carefully he pulled a tweezer-like tool from a plastic shell on the countertop. With Hermione's head turned in the opposite direction and his left hand over her ear, he cut and pulled away the remnants of the thread. With every bit he pulled out from her skin, she flinched. "Don't… move…" Draco mumbled, trying his best not to lose concentration. She only made a small humming sound to show she understood, but when he pulled out another stitch she twitched. Draco passed her an annoyed look, but otherwise said nothing.

Minutes later, her neck was covered with a fresh patch of medicated cloth, and he moved on to the stitches over where her appendix used to reside. It looked only slightly infected. He sterilized it with a swab of rubbing alcohol, making his patient hiss and twitch beneath his hands. Working faster he finished with the swab, tossed it out, and recovered the site with a fresh layer of gauze.

"All set."

Hermione thanked him, and asked, "Don't you need to get back to work? Don't let me keep you too busy. You're an important person at this hospital, from what I gather."

He just waved off her concerns, assuring her that he'd taken the next few hours off. His shift would begin when the day ended.

Hermione nodded, and the room fell back into silence. The atmosphere grew almost awkward.

"So," Draco began. "Why the female doctor? Don't trust my judgement?" He tried to make a joke of the situation, hoping to make her at least smile.

Hermione avoided his eye, once again. She then said, "I'll tell you if you answer my question."

They then looked into the other's eyes. Draco shrugged, "Yeah, okay."

She examined his face, not really sure she should have been asking. "Your Dark Mark. I don't see it." Draco nodded slowly, waiting for her to continue.

"Those things don't ever come off. How'd you get rid of it?"

Draco sat silent for a few moments, pondering on the best way to answer her question. It took a minute or two, before he said, "I never really did. I tried to, for an entire year. It never came off." Saying this he got up to reach the medical tools from near his former seat. Picking out a pad soaked in rubbing alcohol, he scrubbed away at his arm. Slowly lines the colour of a regular ink tattoo began to show.

"I've burnt, scratched, and cut away at my arm. Nothing worked. By the time I'd healed, the mark healed with me. The only way I covered it up was with my wife's makeup. Her skin tone was a little too dark for me, so she got me my own set." He laughed at that.

It grew silent again after that. His glasses were beginning to slide off his nose. He pushed them back up. He didn't pry for her answer on his question, despite his burning curiosity.

Her answer, however, came a little while after his.

She looked nervous, not expecting him to have answered. But a deal was a deal, and it would be highly unfair of her to have left him hanging when she had poked at possibly one of the most horrifying things that had ever happened to him.

"Doctor-patient confidentiality?"

Draco nodded solemnly.

"I trust you. Of course I do. You're my doctor, and a very skilled one at that." She paused. "But you _are _a man. And to be honest I've only had one man before."

"Weasley." He said. She nodded.

"And by '_had'_ you mean…" Draco made exaggerated movements with his hands, getting at what they both understood as intimacy.

"Yes. Him and another man. I don't even know his name, but that wasn't my decision."

She was beginning to tear up, her voice getting hoarser as she swallowed her pain. Draco already understood. She'd been forced into activities with a man not waiting for her consent.

"Granger, you don't need to…"

She nodded, knowing he already understood. "But don't you remember? When you said I needed to talk to someone, I said I'd only talk to you? This is me doing that, no matter how uncomfortable it makes me."

Draco nodded and shut up.

"I was raped, on March 18th two years ago in the alley behind Ron's apartment. I've never trusted a man since. I've never recovered; never let a man close enough to do such a thing to me ever again."

He took her hand from under her blanket and held it in between his two. "Granger, know that I would never do such a thing to you – to anyone – so please, I don't want you afraid I will."

She nodded, and the first tear fell.

"At least tell me you informed someone." He whispered. She shook her head. "I was still with Ron at the time. I told him, and he said it was my fault. That I'd cheated on him. I tried to tell him I didn't do it purposely – I didn't do it at _all_, but he left me. I didn't have anyone else to turn to. My parents were dead. No one would have stood by me then." As she said this she squeezed his hand in hers once.

"Potter, then? Where was Potter?"

Again, she shook her head. "I didn't want anyone to know, really." She sniffed. "I was ashamed. I believed Ron. I told myself it was my fault. Until today I hadn't told anyone."

Draco nodded, sullen. He let her clutch his hand like it was the last thing that held her to this worlds as she cried on. He offered her his handkerchief again. She laughed only briefly.

It took her almost a half hour to calm down, Draco beside her the entire time. at one point he allowed her to rest her head on his shoulder, her body still shaking from her confession.

When she had cried her final tear she wiped it away, swiftly, with the Slytherin house hanky. They stayed in their position.

"Malfoy?" she called, her voice low and muffled.

He hummed in acknowledgement.

"I'm sorry I punched you in the nose."

They both laughed. "That's okay; I'm sorry for being such a jerk."

"I used to hope you would die."

At this Draco sighed. "Yeah, me too."

Hermione got of his shoulder and looked at him dead in the eye. "What? Why?"

Draco only shrugged. "I hated myself. I didn't let anyone else see it but I did. I listened to everything my father said, and it ended up hurting so many people. Katie Bell, for instance. Sometimes I still don't sleep thinking of what I did to her." He paused, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eye, ridding it of the tears forming.

"My father, at home, was abusive. To both me and my mother. I never wanted to leave her alone with him. I used to make myself sick. So sick that Madame Pomfrey had to call my mother to Hogwarts. My father didn't care enough to bother, so it got my mother away from him for a few days. She'd come in to see me, so worried, but then I'd see her bruises. He never stopped. And then I tried to kill myself. I'd always chicken out at the last second, always for my mother. _Only_ for my mother.

"My hate for my father became hate for myself. I developed bulimia. Every morsel I ate came back up. I got too thin. It lead to depression, anxiety, all sorts of things. I already couldn't breathe properly, not from birth. I got dehydrated too fast, and refused to eat for days. It was terrible."

Hermione nodded. "I know the drill. Your skin gets messed up, and your cheeks swell. It takes a lot out of a person."

Draco agreed with her. By then he'd given up trying to keep his tears off his face. He let them fall. Hermione looked at him in surprise. She'd never expected to see Draco Malfoy cry in front of her eyes.

"The throwing up every meal, it isn't easy. The rehab is so much worse. You're told that _it's all in your head, _or _stop whining and just fucking eat something,_ but it's so much harder than they think. A lot of my friends left me because of it."

He hadn't noticed her running her hand over the length of his arm until then. She had tears running down the side of her cheeks too. She'd related to everything he'd told her.

"I'm sorry you had to go through all that." She whispered. He pat his hand over hers when it stopped moving against his arm.

"Yeah, me too."

* * *

**ALRIGHT now, I'd like to mention a few things right here. **

**1) Rape= not okay. If it happens to you, **_**tell someone. **_**It is not your fault. Don't ever think it's your fault. YOU WERE NOT asking for it.**

**2) Bulimia and anorexia. These are serious diseases. It is **_**not**_** all in your head. Same goes for depression, anxiety, and other things I'm probably forgetting. These are real medical conditions that you should never make fun of others for having, or put them down for it. **_**It. Is. Serious.**_

**3) Respect the people around you. No matter how horrible they are to you. I'm going to sound like your mother when I say this but **_**just ignore them.**_** You don't know what they'd been through. **

**4) Suicide. Please don't do it. I know it's hard, and even though it's impossible for me to relate to what you're feeling now, **_**please. Please don't kill yourself today.**_

**5) Bless you all, take care of yourselves. I love you all.**

**6) Also don't do drugs. **


	11. Chapter 11

The first day of chemotherapy didn't go as smoothly as both Draco and Hermione had hoped.

He had warned her of the side-effects it would have on her body. She grew nervous with every passing possibility.

A storm had come in the night before, setting the patients and doctors into a course of anxiety about flickering lights and the threat of having the power cut off at any time.

Hermione was given a room of her own, having been finally permitted to leave the ICU. Draco was there with her for the first half hour, when her medication was being brought in ("_See, Malfoy, we're not late!_"). He helped check her vitals, and confirmed her comfortability. They began with a saline solution, easing her body into receiving the medication. Then, after three nurses began hooking her up to the IV chemo, he was told he could leave. Busy with other patients, he took the permission and did just that.

A regular cancer patient, as Draco had explained to her, was usually permitted up to two people in the room with her. It was actually highly recommended to have at least one caregiver in the room, and he had urged her to call someone. When she had finally agreed, it wasn't who he had thought it would be. He would have expected Potter, Weaselette, maybe even Weasley himself —_scared people did odd things,_ he reminded himself — but instead she'd called on a Muggle friend, one she'd met during her time working at the United Nations. His name, Anthony Jacobs. He was a rather attractive man, only a year or two older than Hermione herself. He had dark hair and striking blue eyes, and a jaw any woman would kill to touch.

He came in wearing a suit, and having had no trouble finding the place, sat at a chair beside his colleague. He'd brought with him Hermione's favourite book, _A Casual Vacancy_, and a warm cardigan he passed to her with a wink. "You forgot this at my place."

The two took to chatting through most of the two hours Hermione had to sit there. A nurse came around every twenty minutes to check her vitals, and looking for any signs of allergic reactions to the chemicals.

After she had left the third time, and the two had resumed conversation, Anthony looked at her. "So you have cancer. I'm so sorry; I never even noticed."

Hermione waved off his statements.

"What type is it?" he asked.

Draco and Hermione had gone over this routine tens of times. When he had learnt she had contacted a Muggle companion to take her through the pains of the chemotherapy, he looked at her like she was crazy. Inviting a Muggle over to a Magical hospital wasn't the safest of ideas. Then when he had decided to put that behind him, he had trained her on the exact words she was going to have to use to avoid any casualties.

"_Pancreatic cancer," Draco had said._ She repeated this to her associate.

"Oh," he mumbled. "I've never actually heard of that."

"_If he asks for any more fun facts," Draco had warned, "like I'm going to assume every Muggle would – they never mind their own business, the Muggles – tell him it's extremely hard to detect."_

"It's really hard to detect," Hermione provided, hoping she was selling it.

"_It's usually only found when it is very advanced and surgery isn't possible."_

"They couldn't perform surgery. The tumor was too advanced."

"_Do you understand? Don't say anything else. Do you want me to repeat anything?"_

_"For the love of God, Malfoy, I get it. There's no need for you to get so paranoid!"_

_"Preparation is not paranoia, Granger. Now hurry up, you're going to be late for the appointment."_

_"Oh my God," Hermione exclaimed, her voice rising. "I'm not going to be late; I'm literally already at the hospital!"_

_Blaise had walked in, taken one look at the argument, pulled a 180, and walked straight out of the room. _

_"Well, _excuse me_, Granger, for trying to make sure you don't die, because you were late to a chemotherapy appointment two floors down!"_

_Hermione threw a pillow off her bed at him. He caught it a second before it hit him in the face. "Well then at least turn around so I can change, nitwit!"_

"So," Anthony began. "Are you going to start losing your hair, or does that come later?"

Hermione, in all obviousness, didn't want to lose her hair. She'd had a talk over it with Malfoy and other doctors who supported his cancer therapy hypothesis. They'd have to do two rounds of chemotherapy once every three months to keep her alive long enough to find a permanent solution. At that rate, her hair would start falling at the end of the first round, completely lost by the second, and start its regrowth only a week before the next round started.

She looked at her co-worker. He waited patiently for an answer, but Hermione didn't know what to tell him. Because, yes, obviously, her hair fall would begin in the next week, but how could she say that to someone who she knew, with absolute certainty, was interested in her? She would be bald. Hairless throughout her body. No eyebrows, no eyelashes. What appeal would she have to anyone once she became that?

So she shrugged and replied, "I haven't a clue," and the conversation shifted to another topic.

Draco came to see how she was coping an hour and a half in. He brought Susanna with him to check Hermione's heartbeat and blood pressure. He met Anthony with a polite handshake, introducing himself as Hermione's doctor.

Susanna only greeted the visitor with a tart smile, before getting on to do her job.

"Granger," Draco addressed her, while the nurse was documenting her recordings. "Need anything?" She only shook her head politely at him, causing him to nod courteously. "I'll be back in a half hour to escort you back to the ward."

"Lovers' quarrel?" Anthony mused. Hermione only scoffed in his general direction, insisting, "We're not quarrelling."

"More importantly," Draco pointed his pen at Hermione, while his eyes remained trained on her friend, "We're not lovers."

He passed the two an annoyed look, but exited the room without further question. Their argument that afternoon had caused nothing short of the same awkward atmosphere they had begun with when Hermione had first arrived at the hospital.

It was almost as if they were back in school, like a couple of quarrelling teenagers who risked a good friendship just to keep their pride in check, neither willing to apologize.

"Could've fooled me," Anthony mumbled.

* * *

True to his word, Draco came in just as the nurses had detached her chemo IV and begun the saline solution.

He sat by her as Anthony left, claiming the time provided by their employers was almost up, leaving little time for him go get back to work.

Draco reclined in the Muggle's former seat, kicking his feet up onto the unused bed in the room.

The saline treatment took only forty minutes to complete, but the tension —provoked by the quiet— made it feel like hours.

Both sat with their feet up —Hermione's on the table— minding their own business: Draco quietly ate away at his green apple (staring at the muted television like it had personally offended him), Hermione trying to concentrate on her book without finding distraction in the silence.

The nurse checking up on Hermione ten minutes later felt this tension. It was strong, intense, and almost angry.

She looked between the two, quickly jot down her findings, and head straight for the door. She'd been a nurse long enough to know —through harsh experience— when to flee to scene.

The next two did the same, until finally one of the male interns was pushed into the room to disconnect the saline administrations and inform the two that they were free to go.

The two still hadn't said a word to one another, but obligation made Draco take her by the hand and help her into the wheelchair waiting for her by the door. Hermione had refused it when they'd first moved her from the ICU, insisting that she was in good enough of a position to walk by herself— even though she'd been in surgery for internal bleeding less than twenty-four hours ago. Draco was having none of it and had forced her into the chair, further fueling their tension.

Susanna drove the wheelchair into an elevator, Draco walking beside the two. She placed the chair in the middle of the lift and when the doctor stepped in right after them, she left, claiming she had other business to attend to. This left Draco and Hermione by themselves in their persistent silence.

"So," he cleared his throat, "How was chemo?"

She didn't answer him at first, debating on whether or not she wanted to risk the relationship they had begun to develop just to spite him. A few years down the line— if she managed to live that long— she didn't want to start regretting losing a friend and doctor, especially one that cared so much.

"Good," she decided to answer without even glancing his way.

Draco sighed and shook his head in disbelief. "Do you really want to keep going with this little fight, Granger?"

"Not really," she mumbled, just loud enough to hear if you were listening.

"Well that's what I thought. Now, I received Code Gray warning —a severe storm warning, that is— stating that the weather outside is strong enough to blow out the electricity like a candle in the wind. You needn't worry when that happens, the backup generator kicks in after a few minutes."

Hermione nodded, but was suddenly caught off balance in her wheelchair as the elevator lurched—along with her stomach— halting the ascension.

The elevator lights went out first, then the air conditioning. She could make out only little of her doctor's face.

She didn't see any need to worry, after what Draco had just told her. The generators would come back up. At most, they'd be stuck there for ten minutes.

But the air around her was already beginning to moisten. She glanced at Draco and from what she could see his forehead was already beginning to glisten.

Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen.

Draco, who had since taken to sitting on the floor, glanced at his watch before wiping his head over his brow.

"How much longer, Malfoy?"

He didn't answer, but instead pulled out a device from his pocket that moderately resembled a Muggle cell phone.

He dialed a number and held the device to his ear.

"Blaise," Draco's voice vibrated against the metallic walls of the lift. "Why are the generators not starting up?"

"_Generators?" _Zabini's answer came in, breaking up and interrupted by static. "_Like electricity generators?" _

"No, Zabini, like Cumberbatch name generators." His face was a set sarcastic deadpan, glaring at the walls.

"_Mate, they're not going to turn on. They were uninstalled the other month because of funding cuts. Don't you remember?"_

At that point his voice was covered in static, and barely audible.

"Blaise? Blaise!" Draco tossed the small machine across the floor, looking in Hermione's direction. "We're going to be in here a while. Some idiot authorized the hospital to remove the backups."

She nodded, "We can't disapparate in this hospital, can we?"

Draco shook his head.

"Call the fire department – you know, if you didn't break your phone."

Draco looked at her like she was insane for suggesting such a thing. "It's not a Muggle mobile, Granger. This is a high-tech radio transmitting device used solely by the personnel of this St. Mungo's. It transmits only to the people in this hospital who have them, and to be honest, that's only a select few."

"So like a walkie talkie, then."

"Granger, I am _appalled_ that you would compare such a magical device to a Muggle child's _walkie talkie."_

"Can I have a talkie, _please_?"

"No, you may _not_. This is for authorized staff only."

"Oh, come on, Malfoy, think of the benefits. The next time I have a heart attack – "

"You didn't have a heart attack, Granger."

"— you'd be the first to know. Imagine the convenience. _'Help me, Malfoy, I'm having a heart attack aaaah!_'" She waved her arms around for dramatic emphasis.

"Merlin, Granger, you can't get a talkie."

"_Malfoy, I'm bleeding."_

"Yeah I understand the benefits, but the head committee would never agree to a patient with one of these things."

"_Malfoy,_" she breathed, the urgent tone of her voice catching his attention. His head snapped up to meet her gaze. "I'm bleed..."

And then in a pool of her blood, Hermione fell to the floor.


	12. Chapter 12

By the time Draco had snatched his pager off the floor and paged the emergency room residents, Hermione had lost too much blood.

_Code Omega, Elevator 3, _he'd typed. _Life threatening blood loss. _

He had applied pressure to her abdomen with his hands, Hermione's back pressed flat against the floor, but he still felt the blood flow from beneath them.

The immediate response team had already begun trying to pry the elevator doors open, both by magic and muggle tools.

By then everyone on the surgical floor had gotten word of the sick girl and her surgeon stuck in the electricity-lacking elevator.

They were lodged in between the third and fourth floors, a majority of the doors' passage blocked by the cement wall in front of them. The surgical floor had little more than a foot's worth of height to view and assist the two— they only had the ability to catch a glimpse at Hermione's body and Draco's bloodied hands. The opening was too far up for most of the faculty to reach. Neither could fit in to exit, and no one but children could have entered inside. However, even in they could have, Hermione was in no shape to be transported.

She remained stone cold unconscious on the ground in front of him.

"What do you see?" A voice resonated, high above the others. It was Draco's boss's boss, the chief of surgery. He was a tart old man, with a gray beard transitioning into white. He'd been on the job three decades.

Draco wanted to swipe his hair away from his eyes, but couldn't in fear of allowing Hermione's blood flow to increase should he remove the pressure.

The hall directly in front of the wedged-open doors was in chaos. The thought of a patient caged in the small cubicle with only a doctor with no surgical tools was terrifying.

"Very little," Draco replied. "But the blood isn't stopping. I can't move my hands and I don't have my wand."

"Let me take care of that." The chief assured, pulling out his own wand and casting a pressure spell on the dying patient on the dirty elevator floor. He also graced them with an eliminating '_Lumos_'.

With the back bend of his wrist Draco pushed his platinum mess out of his eyes.

They were beginning to send up a bag of blood, matching Hermione's type. With it was an IV needle and a stand to hold up the sack. He began setting up the IV. He flicked her skin and waited for a vein to appear. Inserting the needle, he waited for the blood to begin transmitting.

"Sir," Draco called. His voice was frantic, urgent, as he stared at his schoolmate's body. It too greatly resembled a corpse. "I suspect the more magical effects of the poisoning are beginning to take place. The blood is still flowing after the spell. That shouldn't happen."

"What do you propose, then, Healer Malfoy?"

"Bloodroot. A magical substance. So far, it's only been demonstrating Muggle symptoms." As he said this the chief's eyes widened in recognition. He continued, "My most appropriate guess is that the poison is beginning to express more wizard-related symptoms. I don't know what this is, per say, but that's all I've figured by now."

He knelt by her, taking her vitals with his fingers. Her accelerated heart rate had returned. He lifted her blouse— which she had decided to wear for the duration of her chemotherapy— to check her abdomen and the source of the bleed. The magically emitted spell proved to be increasingly helpful in maintaining the pressure over her skin as he examined her.

Her stitches were ripped open, too unnaturally for someone who had been cautious with every step she took. They had been torn apart as though a large rabid dog had pulled at her skin, pulling it into shreds that barely resembled skin anymore.

Had she not felt it? Or has she been concealing it from him because of their fight? More importantly, how long had it been since it started and when she'd told him?

"Chief," he called. "Send up a surgical and suture kit."

The chief nodded once and yelled an order to the crowd behind him. One new nurse nodded once and sprinted to the stations behind them. She returned with it, passing it over to Blaise, who was closer to the elevator and tall enough to reach the opening.

"Draco," he called and wedged the kit in through to space, albeit having to stand on his tiptoes to reach. Then also he barely reached his friend's hand. Draco took the kit gratefully, but not before wiping his hands by the side of his coat. Steaks of Hermione's blood stained the white cloth.

"No need to anesthetize her, Healer Malfoy, she won't need it— she's out cold." He heard the chief's voice below him, and only nodded without any regard as to whether or not he saw it.

He pulled from the kit a suture needle, already threaded in, but hesitated. Should he really be sewing her back up, when it looked like her body had just rejected the previous stitches?

But he shook off his concerns and without trying to waste time, he sprayed a generous layer red mercurochrome on her lower abdomen.

If he wasn't mistaken, her body twitched from the stinging sensation. Could she feel what he was doing?

He had too many unanswered questions at the moment to risk anything. He informed the chief before admitting ten units of morphine, just for formality. What stunned him was just as he was ejecting the needle from her arm, her eyes fluttered open, squinting at the ceiling of the elevator.

"Malfoy?"

"Just hold still, Granger. You're going to be okay."

"I'm going to throw up—"

"_Don't_. Don't move."

There was a soft gagging sound, and when Draco looked up at his patient his eyes grew wide. He dropped his scalpel back into the plastic bag by Hermione's hand, and before she began choking turned her to face his left. It upset the site he had been beginning to prepare for incision, obscuring it from his view.

He looked at the chief with his hands on either side of his patient's head, unsure of what to do. She needed surgery— and fast— if she was going to survive this.

"Find a way," was all he said. Highly useless.

Draco bit his lower lip, hesitation gripping him. Then, seeing no other choice, pulled his coat from his shoulders and placed it gently under Hermione's head. It elevated her slightly and granted her the reduced risk of regurgitation.

With the aid of only morphine, Draco set to work. Scalpel in hand but doubt in mind, he made the first incision near her original wound. It alleviated the pressure underneath, and began spilling out blood. Though this was good for the case, he had to make sure she didn't lose too much in light of the recent events.

After she stopped bleeding, Draco asked her to say a few words, making sure the blood loss hadn't put her back into unconsciousness. She mumbled a quick measure of her pain, one he only waved off and said she was going to be okay about. Then he got ready to restore the sutures on her appendectomy scar.

First he cut through the thin wire, and pulled at the remnants with the backs of two tools. She winced, feeling it as though it were a dull uncomfortable ache.

"Keep talking," he urged.

"I really just want to go home, Malfoy." she said softly.

"Louder. I can't hear over the fuss outside." he was right; the medical staff on the floor below them wouldn't stop bickering.

_"I want to go home_!" she yelled.

"I know," Draco sighed, putting the tools down as he prepared to redo the stitching. "I know what that feels like. But just hold on. You just have to get through this first."

"I don't want to."

The words almost made Draco stop, and succeeded in actually silencing the crowd awaiting them below.

"Granger, you've made it so far. With your life, with your illness. You've survived so much already." As he said this he swept back into motion with his tools, working quickly to ensure the safety his patient's life. "You're the sole survivor of the sixth BRP stage. The oncologists and I have set a schedule for you. You've sacrificed too much to stop now."

"But– but I'm so tired." Hermione heaved, grasping at whatever thinning air she could. "I just want to go home."

Although Draco didn't agree to Hermione's thoughts, he thought it best to keep her talking. That way he could make sure that she was still alive without having to look over at her every few seconds.

In her words he observed depression, the loss of her will to live. She wanted no more part in the world.

"I want to be free. Not connected to wires and being rushed into emergency surgery every three seconds." She explained.

"I can't make promises on your life, Granger, I really can't. But I do promise I'll do everything I can to keep you alive, no matter the sacrifices I have to take."

"I stand with the man!" The chief affirmed from the floor. "Ms. Granger, there is little we wouldn't do for the safety of our patients."

And then Draco began to cut.


	13. Chapter 13

Nine hours, thirty-six stitches, and three firemen later, Hermione and Draco were stunned asleep. He had taken the most comfortable bed in the on-call room (one that often stirred trouble with arguments over its true owner between residents) and was not willing to hear shit from any other doctor in the room.

Before he had clocked out, he had talked to the chief, who had supported his hypothesis.

Hermione Granger wasn't going to live long, despite her chemotherapy rounds, because there was no physical medication for a magical disability like the one she had. It was unheard of.

It was the next stage of the poison— it had to be.

It was a disease only found in newborns—usually Squibs; something they were born with. The body never healed, despite the amount of times it had been treated.

They called it CNF, because everyone was lead to believe it couldn't be cured, only subdued for temporary amounts of time. Confirmed Newborn Fatality.

It was fatal, a disease so completely absurd and unbelievably insane that it made it hard for any to grasp. It was rare, and often genetic. Newborns hardly lived past two months.

But Hermione Granger was not a newborn. She had lived and survived through worse. She would come over this too. Of that, Draco was… almost sure of.

In her corner of the ICU, the woman Draco was always thinking about had stabilized, and nurses had started administering the Basic Muggle potion. It had been created by a great witch no one knew the name of (courtesy of their old Professor Gildory Lockhart's trickery and abuse of power). It meant that Hermione's body would undergo significant change, as the potion worked mainly to subdue magical power; her symptoms would reduce, and with it her magical abilities. She could have easily been considered a Muggle in that moment.

The potion was one that they had initially begun administering during the clinical trials of trying to find a remedy for their BRP victims. Eventually, however, they had stopped when the trial had shown no progress in subduing the poison itself. It was considered a waste of money and resource. However, it was what had ways been used to prolong the lives of those with the disease.

Over the hours as they both slept, Hermione's demeanor grew stronger—the heavy medication contradicting its _Basic_ label— working to maintain her health. On the other hand Draco began to pale, his cheeks losing all normal colour and his skin glistening.

Over the tough hours he had managed to shrug off his cardigan— one he had pulled out from the back of his locker earlier, due to the chilly weather— and it dropped to the floor, crumpling, as Draco slept on.

The last time he had had such a bad night was when the Dark Lord had appointed him responsible in the mission to murder Head Master of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore.

Then also he had had such a horrible time, trying both to cope and wrap his head around the situation as it had unfolded in front of his eyes.

When he woke it was to the sound of his pager. His night on-call seemed to continue without any regard to his mental or physical state. He shoved his glasses onto his face with tired vehemence and rolled himself off the bed he had been occupying.

He pulled on new black scrubs— with little room to shower when a patient was waiting— but didn't bother himself with his white coat. He already felt too warm without it, anyways.

The patient was one being wheeled into the trauma room on a gurney, having been a part of a drunken late night Quidditch match with friends he was determined to impress. With the brooms giving them the ability to fly miles up into the air, such accidents were not uncommon.

The paramedic had already dictated the case to the other trauma doctors, but repeated them for Draco, seeing his dishevelled state. It was an eighteen year old Hogwarts graduate, freshly out of school. He had been found at the bottom of a pit similar to Aragog's home, somewhere out in the middle of a football field. His heart had stopped twice on site, and the paramedics had agreed to restart his heart with a defibrillator. He was stabilized, but had a cracked rib, and —Draco had to turn the boy's head around to see it—a large part of his broom's wood splintered in the back of his skull, dangerously close to his spine.

Draco nodded, his headache refusing to leave him be.

"Understood. Thank you, Jackie. Someone page neuro!"

Jackie Winterbottom had been the first responder on-scene at his house when he had called St. Mungo's for assistance three days before Astoria had died.

She only gave him a curt nod and a soft smile before she turned and left.

Once her back was turned, however, the patient began to code once again.

"Code blue! He's is VFIB!" Draco announced, ripping open the boy's shirt with a strong set of scissors. The shredded fabric was halfway on its way down to the floor when he stopped.

The room became deathly silent.

It had been twelve years since the end of the Battle. Twelve years since Voldemort had died. Twelve years since he had seen a Dark Mark that wasn't his own.

As the medical staff stared at the eighteen year-old's mark, Draco couldn't tell whether or not he was someone worth saving. Knowing his staff, he was painfully aware that almost everyone on his team had lost a family or friend to the Dark One's murders. It was also horribly clear that he had gotten the mark out of his own volition, rather than the obligation Draco himself had faced.

"Well?" he yelled, causing many to jump. "Save the boy's damn life!"

A nurse grabbed a bag valve mask, securing it over the teen's mouth and nose. Another placed two sticky pads over his chest, and tucked a board beneath his torso.

"Has anyone paged neuro yet?" Draco yelled. He grabbed the paddles, adding, "Charge to 200 – Clear!" the crowd around the boy stepped back and took their hands off his body, a second before it jumped with the shock.

"He's still coding; charge to 300 – Clear!"

The boy's body jumped again. His monitor stopped yelling at the doctors, and before the end of a second had returned to its peaceful beeping.

Stabilized, and not a concern, the boy's wellbeing had stopped attracting the attention of the room. That honor was presented to the Dark Mark on his left forearm. The doctors and nurses stared in between themselves, unsure if they wanted to aid in saving the life of someone who supported the killer of their family and friends.

"Everyone," the chief's voice came from behind them, grabbing their attention. Many turned to face their superior in the doorway. "I fully understand if you are uncomfortable in treating this patent." The room remained quiet. "Which is why I'm granting you ten minutes to make your mind up if you want to leave the boy. It would make you no worse as a person if you exit this room right now." He met the eyes of his employees, turned, and left. To no one's surprise, quickly following him was Dennis Creevey, Colin's older brother. He had taken up medicine three years after the battle, after combating drug addiction caused by his brother's death. He was always one of their best doctors. Close behind him were others like the Patil sisters' cousin, Swatti, and Lavender's niece, Tyra.

When everyone not willing to work on the boy had silently taken their leave, only Draco and his main nurse remained. The neurosurgeon came in, confused at the crowd beginning to disperse outside the ER. He took one look at the Dark Mark and sighed in recognition.

"Okay. Let's get to work."

After the surgery that had taken out the splintered wood and had saved the Dark Lord's supporter, Draco's shift was long since over, and he was more than ready to leave work for the comfort of his home.

He went to collect his jumper off the floor of the on-call room, but was forced to quickly backtrack when he found two colleagues going at it in the top bunk. His jacket remained dejected on the floor, while the resident and her attending carried on in their bed. He slammed the door loudly behind him.

"Sorry," he called in through the door, trying to stifle an exhausted chuckle. He left when he only heard the two ignore him to continue their intimate session.

He began moving towards the attendings' hall, hoping to be able to change and leave the hospital without further incident. He was looking forward to seeing his boy before he left in the morning.

In the comfort of the empty room, he pulled off his the shirt of his scrubs and tossed it in a nearby basket. He stared down at the Dark Mark he bore at his forearm, forced to be exposed to the world when he had scrubbed in for surgery a few hours ago. Usually he kept it covered with his coat's sleeve. Today he had only pressed his arm into his chest to mask it as he had jogged to the hall. Almost like it was a second thought he scratched away at it, leaving soft red lines across the sinister skull and snake.

The day he had gotten the mark was one of the worst in his life. It wasn't normal ink, nor anything he had ever heard of before. Even regular Wizarding tattoos didn't have the ability to move under one's skin, like the Dark Mark did.

The procedure had been torture. His mother had been looking at him from across the room, unable to do anything with her husband's tight, menacing grip around her arms, immobilizing her. Her eyes pleaded with her son to forgive her, but he had never blamed her.

It was his aunt, the retched Bellatix Lestrange who performed the procedure. Her own Mark gleamed in the dark room, prominent as she glided her wand across his clear and flawless pale skin. It had felt like poison sliding into his veins, traveling, distributing, painting itself into the pathways of his body— eventually into his heart. It carried the burden of ten Horcruxes, weighing down on his chest like the split souls of his commander.

The inking took hours. It felt like an entire eternity.

At first he had willed himself not to scream for his audience. But the pain grew worse, progressing through higher stages. Eventually he'd blacked out. He didn't remember much, but he only knew Voldemort's only pain relief was passing out.

For weeks the Mark had stung. For months he had stared at the monstrosity on his arm and despised himself, his heritage, his life. For years wept himself to sleep when the memory arose, his Mark glaring up at him in the dark confinements of his room.

He let the memory fade away as he pulled on his own clothes. He put his watch back on, pulled a beanie over his messy hair, and adjusted his glasses before he was fully set to go.

It was a silent, cold day.

He had just pushed the elevator's _down_ button when he began to hear the loud beeping of a machine in the ICU to his left. He vaguely remembered ordering for the nurses to take Hermione into that ward.

The elevator doors sprung open to welcome him in, but Draco had already tossed his bag down onto the floor and disappeared into the ICU.

Contrary to what he was expecting, the heart failure was not Hermione's.

He performed CPR and administered shocks to the twenty-something year old who had been in a biking accident.

She wasn't revivable.

He called time of death— _5:34 am. _

Her name, Christina Sanders.

Draco sighed as he lifted the sheet to fit over the woman's face. When she was covered,

Draco watched as she was wheeled away to the morgue.

"Malfoy?" a voice coughed.

He turned, startled to have awoken somebody. He'd tried his best at remaining silent with the patient, but it had been quite inevitable when he had the night shift residents' inadequate and inexperienced interns by his side.

He tread to the source of the voice and had to squint to see the patient, and wasn't surprised to see that it had been Granger who had spoken out. Her skin had regained its pink hue, her cheeks flush with the beautiful colour he had always remembered her to have. Her hair spread itself elegantly on the pillow, making Draco believe, in that foolish moment, that maybe she was going to be okay.

"Everything good, Granger?" he asked into the darkness, the dim moonlight his only guide as he slumped into a chair beside her bed.

He allowed himself to lift his feet onto her bed, feeling her legs beneath him. He made sure not to crush them.

She only made a low hum, affirming her health. "You good?"

Draco shook his head as a quick no in return, but only elaborated when she inquired about it after a few moments of understanding silence.

"I had to save the life of a Voldemort fanatic today. I really wish I didn't have to. It brought up a lot of crappy memories."

Hermione only let out a low "Oh." Even that small syllable was filled with the most understanding and sympathy he had heard all day. "That couldn't have been easy."

"No. No it wasn't."

She glanced at him for the first time since he had sat down. "Were you on your way out, or in?" She asked, taking in his casual clothing.

"Out." He replied curtly.

"Oh, don't let me stop you, Malfoy. By all means, I insist you head back home. You look like you could use some rest."

He snorted. "You can say that again."

"Well, then. Go." She persuaded.

"And you're sure you don't need anything?" His voice let on the concern his face had been hiding. He stood and towered over her bed.

"Yes, yes— Leave me be. I'm just incredibly bored."

"Well, I'll see if I can bring you a book tomorrow. What do you say? Any special requests?"

Her eyes followed him to the door as he made his way out. She had a smirking glint in her eye. "Surprise me."

He chuckled. "Will do, Granger. Will do."

She lifted her hand to wave a simple goodbye to him, and after returning it was gone.


	14. Chapter 14

The tapping of pen to clipboard stirred her from her sleep the next morning. Too early.

She spared a glance at the clock opposite her bed. She noticed that 'the next morning' was only four hours after Draco had left. She had only managed to sleep for three of them.

She squinted against the bright light of the room, and found herself eye to eye with a stern nurse.

"Just checking vitals."

"_Hm_."

Though she tried her level best, she couldn't seem to find sleep after her rude awakening. She looked around her bed while her eyes grew stronger against the streaming sunlight.

Her eyes stopped at a modest and well-worn book—with a cheeky red ribbon tied around it like a present— on the visitors' chair by the bed.

She was startled when she caught a glimpse at the front cover. _Ulysses_, by James Joyce. She had never expected Malfoy to have such a strong taste in literature. It most certainly was a good book, and frankly, one she'd always been meaning to get around to reading.

She opened the first page. The beautiful handwriting of a woman stood out at the top of the page.

_From the libraries of Astoria H. Greengrass. _

"Oh."

Hermione had never really known Astoria. She'd only ever had one personal experience with the girl.

It was when Hermione was in Year Four, Astoria in Year Two. The Yule Ball.

Draco had just left, after his attempt to stop Hermione crying. She had, eventually, and had decided to return to the dorms, many hours before the rest of the school. Second Years were meant to be in bed, but there she had been: Astoria Greengrass, charging through the halls of Hogwarts like it was nobody's business. She had had a wand in one hand, the illuminating spell activated. She was clutching the arm of a well-known Hufflepuff Muggle-born with her other hand.

Having been sorted into Slytherin and born a pure blood, Hermione had naturally assumed the worst. She hadn't let her speculation show on her face, however, as she approached the two. The Muggle-born boy seemed to be close to tears.

She had coughed lightly to get their attention, and they had stopped in their tracks.

"Hermione G-granger," the twelve-year-old had stuttered. "What are you doing here?"

Hermione gave her a disapproving stare. "What are _you_ doing here?"

Astoria had looked at the ground sheepishly, the light of her wand dancing across the hall's walls as she scratched the back of her neck. She had held up the boy's arm.

"He's bleeding..."

Hermione had looked down at the other student, another twelve year old— wincing in pain.

A large shard of glass was protruding out of his left leg. "I was insisting he visit Madame Pomfrey, but he didn't want to, so I dragged him along."

Still wary, Hermione leaned forward for a better look. She noticed that they were leaving a minuscule trail behind them.

"How did this happen?" She asked as she helped carry the weight of the boy to the infirmary.

"I was heading back to the dorms after a walk, and I saw him on the floor in front of the portrait to the dungeons."

Hermione had looked down to the girl, surprised a witch of her standard was helping another.

"I thought you weren't a fan of Muggle-borns?" She had pressed.

"I'm not, but he was bleeding on our carpet."

Despite the twelve-year-old's beliefs, it was at that moment when Hermione realized that Astoria wasn't such a bad person deep inside. You just had to dig for quite a while.

As she held that book in her hands, examining it, she wondered if the Astoria whose book she was holding had ever truly found what it meant to be nice.

She had heard of Astoria's death even after she had distanced herself from the Magical media. It was hard to miss even if you lived under a rock— which, Hermione did, in Wizarding terms.

A photo of Malfoy and their son had been plastered on the front page of the news, dressed in all blacks. A few pages in, the article resurfaced, with the moving illustrations of Malfoy carrying a the front of her coffin on his shoulder. His eyes were red, his hair barely neat, and his paleness further prominent with the dark rings beneath his eyes.

Scorpius was in Narcissa's arms, head buried in her shoulder.

Both father and son had looked distraught. They had stayed much longer than the rest of the crowd, Scorpius enveloped in his father's arms as they had both wept for Astoria H. Greengrass.

"Ms Granger," someone called her name. The stern voice brought her back to the present year.

A cocktail of tablets was shoved in front of her face by the nurse towering over her bed.

"Healer Malfoy strongly suggests you take these. It helps subside the nausea caused by the Basic Muggle Potion."

Hermione nodded quickly and swallowed the lot with generous helpings of water.

"Have you seen Healer Malfoy today? It's quite important that I speak with him— urgently— of my treatment plan."

The nurse only tossed an amused stare in her direction. "I'll check and let you know."

"Also, do remind him of my upcoming chemotherapy."

The nurse only scoffed, more amused by every word. "I'm sure as your doctor, he's quite aware."

Hermione, in spite the disrespectful amusement, grew stern. "I have asked you to remind him, so I hope you do as such."

The nurse only sighed and nodded. She left before Hermione could ask anything else of her.

She waved off her anger— she'd always try to remain in her best mood— and opened the first page of the book.

She was halfway through when anyone came to disturb her further. The guards outside completed their primary security check on the nurse coming in, allowing her (only after the strict beep and green light of their machinery) to enter the ward.

It was Susanna, coming bearing a large smile and a tray of breakfast. She set it down on the table by the bed and sat beside Hermione. "Healer Malfoy should be with you shortly. We had to call him from his home, seeing as he isn't on call this morning. I heard of your concern regarding your chemo. Anything I might be able to help you with?"

In between a quick sip of water, Hermione shook her head politely. "I'm afraid that must remain confidential between Malfoy and I. Thank you so much, nonetheless."

Susanna only nodded. "Well, enjoy your meal. I'll be back soon, and Healer Malfoy before me." She helped herself up, leaving for the door. She turned, said, "Get well soon," promptly, and left with a soft smile.

Shortly after receiving a page regarding Hermione Granger, Draco rolled himself out of bed and made way into the bathroom. He was forced to stop on the way— he gripped the side of a nearby chair to regain balance as his eyes clouded over. For the longest amount of time, he could only see black, regardless of the number of times he blinked his eyes.

His next steps were slow. Calculated.

By the time he'd reached the doorframe of the bathroom, he was close to falling. He splashed water haphazardly onto his face, confused when the cold water barely disturbed him. His vision slowly began to clear.

He caught a glance of himself in the mirror as he was reaching for the toothbrush. His eyes were red. His skin paler than it should have been. He looked strangely purple.

He tossed another fistful of cold tap water onto his face, watching the beads slip down his hair and cling to his eyelashes. His heart began to slow into a normal pace— he hadn't noticed it was beating so fast— as he gripped the sides of the basin. He closed his eyes and slowly regained stability in his footing and balance. When he opened them again he saw Scorpius staring at his through the mirror, eyes wide in fright. In his arms sat the sleeping Crookshanks, still in their foster care.

A quick glance informed Draco of the time: nine in the morning.

"Daddy are you okay?"

"It's okay, Bub. I'm okay. I'll just be leaving for the hospital soon."

The reply came softly, almost in a whisper. "Okay."

Draco turned to his son with a large smile, who was obviously not convinced. "You also need to tell me what you want for your birthday! That's popping around soon!" He hoped the change of topic made Scorpius happier, as to not think of his father's health.

"I want you to be home more, Daddy."

Draco's heart broke for his son, and he only nodded as he realized how much time he had been spending with others rather than his child. he swallowed the dull ache in his throat.

"I'll definitely try, Bub. Number one priority."

"Thank you." He turned and left, Crookshanks purring as they both exited the room.

With a sigh, Draco shoved the toothbrush into his mouth to get ready for the day's work.

In the next twenty minutes he was inside St. Mungo's, holding the file labelled 'Hermione Granger'.

He was scanned thoroughly by the stern guards stationed outside, their faces set in brick as usual. He only allowed a puzzled look in light of Draco's state. "You are authorized to pass, Healer Malfoy."

Draco slapped his arm in appreciation. "Thanks, buddy."

He approached the side of Hermione's bed, and having been speed walking through the building needed a moment for his mind to settle and his eyes to stop clouding over. He held on to the foot rails.

"You summoned, Granger?"

"Good God, Malfoy. Take a seat, you look like you're about to fall."

"I assure you, I'm quite alright."

Draco peaked through one closed eye to see Hermione pass his the sternest of glares.

"For the sake of Merlin and his damned beard, Malfoy, _sit down_."

With a submissive sigh Draco tossed the file onto the mattress— barely missing Hermione's leg— and collapsed onto an awaiting visitors' chair by her bed stand, like a child reluctantly obeying his mother's commands.

I trust you enjoyed the book." He gestured to the bookmarked tome on the table. Hermione noticed his hands were shaking to the extent that it appeared as though the man were freezing. Draco didn't seem to take note.

Hermione only nodded.

"So, what can I help you with? I was told you requested a visit to inquire about your therapy and treatment plan."

She nodded again, but said, in her softest tone, "Yes, but Malfoy, when I said it was of the utmost confidentiality, I meant it."

"Of course."

"I have to confess this has little to do with chemotherapy." She avoided his eyes. "This has more to do with me hoping to sign a DNR contract."

"Granger?" Draco shot up from his chair, ignoring the fact that he has become lightheaded once more. "A Do-Not-Resuscitate order?!"

Still not looking up at him, Hermione nodded. "I can't do this anymore."


	15. Chapter 15

"Are you seriously kidding me, Hermione Granger?"

"Are you seriously questioning the decisions I make regarding my own life, Draco Malfoy?"

They'd been arguing for about twenty minutes by the time Susanna came back for the tray. Her delicate cough caught their attention, reminding them both a little too much of their old Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, Dolores Umbridge.

The argument continued unfazed as the nurse collected the half-eaten food and drink and, on her way out, nodded to the two, both of whom didn't even notice.

"Do you actually realize what this means, Granger? This— this isn't an old coat you're throwing out for spring cleaning, Granger. This is your _life_—"

"And you think I don't understand what this means?" She was yelling now. "I understand _quite_ clearly how serious the matter is." When she met his eyes, hers were bloodshot. His, glazed over. "You are my _doctor_, Malfoy; not family, not friend. Just get me my papers."

"I will not be doing that, Granger."

"And why is that?" she snapped. "What input could you possibly have over the matter? Why do you even care so much?"

"_BECAUSE YOU DON'T GET TO QUIT_," Draco's voice carried across the room, the ward, the hall. Faces turned as the disagreement reached a new volume. "I have tried _so hard_, Granger— _so fucking hard_— to keep you alive from the _second_ you arrived in this hospital. Every _minute_ of the last few weeks have been nothing more than me hoping and _trying_ to find a damn cure for you, and you _DO NOT_ get to give up on that!"

There was stark silence after that. The nurses outside had stopped tried to make themselves scarce, and for a few seconds there was only the sound of the phone ringing at the desk of their station. Everybody stopped in fear for what was going to happen to the doctor yelling at his patient.

"Get out." Hermione whispered. She sunk into her bed and turned away from him so he was left staring at her back.

"Granger—" He tried to make his way around the bed to face her, but she took the file from beside her feet and flung it at him. It caught him squarely in the chest seconds before he could catch it.

"Get the hell out of this room, Malfoy, or so help me God—"

"Grang—"

"Officer Blake," she raised her voice for the guard by the door to hear. "If you would please escort Healer Malfoy over here to wherever the fuck else he needs to be—"

"Don't touch me," Draco snapped at the guard that tried coming closer. He turned and left by himself.

By the time Draco was inside the on-call room, he was breathing incredibly heavily. He paged a nurse to bring over DNR forms for him to sign off to Hermione Granger, and then arranged for it to be sent to her bed. The nurse had looked worried and had offered to take a look at him, but he had waved her away to deal with Granger.

He sat at the edge of a sofa, trying to stop himself from passing out. His breathing was shallow, his chest heaving. He pulled the inhaler out of his coat pocket and pressed it to his lips, pressing twice.

The assisted breath did little to satisfy his lungs. By then he began inhaling deeply, trying too hard to breathe that he ignored how light-headed he was becoming.

He closed his eyes, meaning only to rest his eyes, and before he knew it, had fallen asleep on the ragged blue couch.

It was only when a vibration on his belt caught his attention – a page from a nurse – that he noticed how long he had remained passed out in the middle of the doctors' on-call room. He'd been out for three hours. He was still completely exhausted. He committed nonetheless to answering his pager from the designated post-op rooms – the asshole with the Dark Mark on his forearm—before heading home. The Dark Lord's supporter had been fooling around with his magic (when post-op directions explicitly prohibited him from doing so) and was having a seizure.

Draco rolled his eyes and groaned at the ceiling, but stood to his feet and barged out the door to get the the boy, leaving the on-call room empty for only seconds before a nurse and resident began heading on their way in. _

The DNR papers were delivered to Hermione's bedside before lunch. Legally, she knew Draco had had no choice but to accept her decision, despite his little he supported it. As her doctor, he had delivered in his part. As someone she considered a new friend, he had failed to convince her to pursue an alternative.

She had been close to the end of her book when an intern has brought the papers over. She saw Draco's exhausted scrawl in two slots; the first approving the document as her doctor, and the other as the post she had assigned him to as her medical power of attorney.

There was only one line left, with her name in fine print beneath it. She borrowed a pen from the intern and quickly jotted down her signature before she could think of changing her mind.

Much to her surprise, Draco had also sent her a typed notice that she was no longer required to remain in intensive care, and that she should expect nurses to move her by the end of the day. It had Draco's same tired signature at the bottom.

She signed her approval beside his, handing the documents back to the intern to file.

After four weeks in St. Mungo's, Hermione was finally beginning to feel like she would be getting better again. Most of the symptoms she had arrived with were completely healed. Almost all of the diseases and illnesses she had been diagnosed with were cured— with Draco's help exceeding everyone else's. She stopped for a moment to rethink the argument they had had not minutes ago.

She knew he meant well. Of course he did. He was his mother's son, after all. He had once been a hard, heartless boy, but he had grown into a kind and compassionate man. He listened. He cared. He loved.

And it was because of that that he fought. He fought for life. For her.

Not unlike her, he had seen the harsh realities of death. Of sorrow and pain.

Their young age had brought experience ten-fold of what they had deserved. They had seen too many deaths to count. They were numb to death. They were numb to sorrow and pain.

It would be cruel of her to force him into watching another Hogwarts student die, with nothing he could do to save her. It would be forcing him to relive the past he had been so desperately trying to run from. It would be more than cruel. It would be torture, especially after the bond they had formed since her arrival at St. Mungo's. They had apologized and forgiven. Talked and forgotten.

But she was done. Truly and utterly, Hermione wasn't going to keep fighting. Her limbs were aching. Her insides were failing. She didn't want to live a life under mechanical breathing and artificial beating.

And even though she was recovering, she had no magic. The poison inside her made her a prisoner to her own body.

So despite what friendship she had with Draco, she wasn't going to change her decision for him, no matter how much she knew it might hurt him.

She was a BRP patient. He should have expected it.

* * *

Three hours after the fight, after Hermione had had a chance to cool off about the topic, and after reading her official notice, Hermione was asked to get out of bed and take her first steps to somewhere that wasn't the bathroom. A nurse and and orthopaedic intern followed her close behind, a wheelchair at the ready if she got too tired or rushed.

Slowly the three made their way to a nearby elevator, where Hermione pushed the button with her knuckle and waited patiently for it to arrive.

The doors slid open, allowing for them to step in board. The doors slid back closed, and they ascended to the ninth floor. They made a quick stop on the fourth for a doctor on his way up. A doctor who only so happened to be Draco Malfoy, on his way from the on-call room to examine his patient.

The two avoided the other's gaze, and the elevator settled in silence thick with awkwardness. Draco cleared his throat once and asked, "You signed the forms?"

"Yeah."

"Okay."

No one else said a word until the doors opened on the ninth floor. He allowed Hermione's party to leave first, and followed behind them. The three women began walking to assignment and registration.

Draco didn't go as far as to hurry himself on his way to his patient. He stopped by the diabetes centre and grabbed two sacks of glucose, pushing the straw into one to drink it on his way. When he finished the first one he was by the boy's door, throwing it away before he entered.

The boy — Richard, he saw written on the charts— was still seizing. Nurses had positioned him on his side and were waiting it out. Calmly and rather nonchalantly, Draco picked Richard's wand off the floor and snapped it in half. The wand whistled quietly, and then slowly died as all its power seeped from the wood.

"This hospital doesn't do well with rule-breaking, Richard," Draco said once the boy had returned to a normal state— calmed and resting on his bed.

Draco had taken a seat by the bed, more for his own sake than anything else. His heart was just beginning to slow down to a normal pace, his breathing regulating. He stopped feeling the urge to throw up. His gray eyes bore into the boy's own as he picked up his wand.

"_What the hell_?" The young patient exclaimed. "Do you know _who I am_? Do you know what you've just done?!"

Draco smirked at the pesky teen in front of him. "As your physician I have full authority and consent by the Ministry of Magic and its medical department to have your wand taken from you and destroyed once I have deemed you permanently unfit to use magic— in this case, your recent head injury— but please, do go on."

Richard exhaled sharply, unsure of what his rebuttal was. "My father will be hearing about this!" He yelled, holding up the pieces of his wand—which was cut through the middle in two clean halves— and then winced at his own jerky movement.

"I do suggest you don't move so suddenly. You should have bruises to the side of your body because of that little episode." Then Draco looked Richard in the eye as he took what remained of the wand from him. He tossed the remnants in a nearby magical-waste trash basket.

Richard tried to protest, but Draco shut him up with a stethoscope to his back, listening to his patient's heartbeat. He nodded as he heard sufficient pumping. "You'll be discharged by tomorrow. Don't fuck up your life."

After that, Draco up and left, leaving the boy staring, stunned, and wandless. "Who the hell does that guy think he is?" he muttered to a nearby nurse.

"That, young man, was Healer Malfoy, and he was the one who saved your life."

There was a loud, sharp knock at the door that didn't interrupt Richard's childlike whining.

A woman unfamiliar to him walked in first, followed by two others. One was holding a file. The other, a wheelchair. The first woman who had come in settled into the crisp clean bed in the same room, only a few feet away from his own bed.

Richard's bickering halted as passed a disbelieving look at the woman, believing he deserved the room to himself.

She stuck her hand out to him in an effort to stop him from looking at her like she was prey. "Hermione Granger."

"Ricky," he said shortly, ignoring the invitation to take her hand.

She only smiled, trying to remain polite as he turned his back to her and the other three in the room, sulking.

Hermione scoffed at his childish attitude, thinking, '_This one's a bigger jerk than Malfoy._' and returned to her book.

* * *

**Hi guys!**

**So a few weeks ago, on the 14th of December, we crossed this story's first anniversary!**

**I want to thank everyone who has been reading since my first chapter. Without you, I truly would have had no success with this fic. You guys mean the world to me :)**

**xx**


	16. Chapter 16

Draco spent the rest of that day sleeping. He had returned from the hospital an hour after he had left the boy with the Dark Mark whining about his wand.

He'd stopped by the chief of surgery's door before he took his leave, asking for the day off, promising to return for a night shift. The request was happily granted.

Running into Hermione that morning had only further exhausted him.

For many years, years beyond counting, he had been keeping an eye out for her. More than a decade. He'd never shown it, but he had. From the day she had punched him in the face to this very day.

He'd never understood compassion, affection, or love beyond what his mother provided him— until that evening in second year when he and Hermione were first asked to work together. The Slytherin pureblood with the Gryffindor muggleborn. The royalty of each house.

It had been a simple task in Flitwick's Charms class, in a break from the regular syllabus to add in defense week (incorporated into the schedule a few days after the first student had been paralyzed). The task at hand: to hex the person in front of you into oblivion; blind them—temporarily, of course, because otherwise parents everywhere would riot and possibly even call for Flitwick's imprisonment— for several minutes; the ideal time to run away from a paralyzing basilisk.

And the genius Filius Flitwick had decided it was a good idea to pit enemies of the class against each other.

It had been Harry with Pansy, Ron against Goyle, and Hermione with Draco.

He taught them the first step— '_Flick, flick, tap_."

The class obeyed.

Then it had been "Caeci Malum," to blind one's opponent.

Of course, there had been injuries. A majority of the class was escorted into Madame Pomfrey's care.

But Draco had performed it perfectly. Hermione had gasped, coming close enough in shock to drop her wand. Flitwick, it seemed, had not thought of the psychological scars of the spell when he had thought of the idea to teach it to them.

Hermione was rubbing at her eyes, completely unready for Draco to have gotten the spell down the first time around.

Then came the compassion of a twelve year old boy.

Terrified he'd done something wrong, Draco brought her a seat and waited for her eyes to clear— the entire time pacing around her and panicking. She'd never known, but every few seconds he came to face to face with her and stared at her eyes, hoping to see signs of recovery. He'd chewed one of his thumb's nails right down to the nub in those short but long ten minutes. By the time she came to, she found him playing around with his fingers and seated on a chair not too far away.

After that it was the intrigue of a twelve year old child, the affection of a fourteen year old kid, the lust of an eighteen year old boy, and the attachment of a twenty-eight year old man.

And it was becoming harder to go back with every step he took towards her.

Because soon, it would grow to become the love of one incredibly exhausted doctor.

* * *

Debate was not new to Hermione. She had been doing it all her life, both with herself and with others around her. It was practically her job at the Muggle UN.

But she had never truly found an opponent as utterly thick and unreasonable as her new roommate.

The two had spent most of their time in silence, with Hermione engulfed in her book — close to the end— and Richard absorbed into the television screen.

Hours passed until the moment her pages had run out, and his channels were becoming less interesting. The sun was beginning to fall, dimming the room. Hermione watched the sunset silently. Then, with little else to do, she struck up a conversation.

"Ricky," she started, and he looked at her with bored curiosity. "You're a wizarding graduate, I presume. Hogwarts?"

He nodded.

"Which house?"

"Ravenclaw."

She hummed in acknowledgement, and remained silent, hoping the boy would ask her something in return to cure her of her boredom. There were a few horrible moments of silence, but then she heard his voice ask, "'Hermione', you said your name was. Did you mean that you are _the _Hermione? Hermione Granger? The '_Hogwarts War Soldier_' Granger?"

It had been years since she'd heard that title.

"Yes," she said. "That one precisely."

"Well in that case," Richard said —and in that moment Hermione began preparing herself for the abundance of praise she usually got upon recognition (praise she hated, felt she didn't deserve, and tried to avoid), and sighed — and then his face got red, "Fuck you, lady."

"_Excuse me?_"

"You are the reason the Dark Lord fell. You were the end to his magnificent journey to rid the Magical world of _mudbloods_. To continue Wizarding superiority. He would have succeeded without you meddling in his way."

Hermione was rendered speechless. All her efforts to save as many lives as she could. At seventeen, to help thousands of wizards and witches defend themselves against the confederates of the Wizarding world. And on top of that, to insult her blood, her parents', her grandparents' heritage. Her '_kind_', quite clearly segregated from the purebloods.

"You're fucking joking. You support Voldemort."

"That I do."

"What were you, negative four years old when that old bastard was finally put down?— Do your parents know about this?" Hermione spluttered. It was an outrage to treated as the boy was treating her.

"I am an independent man who doesn't need anyone's approval to get anywhere." He retorted.

"Oh, and that's not how you got your head injury is it? Seeking the approval of your friends over a silly Quidditch trick?"

The boy went silent.

"I thought so."

They both shut up after that, anger permanent on each face.

Only a few hours after she'd settled in, nurses had come in with lunch. They had both received the standard; warm soup, staling bread, and cold cooked vegetables. A sealed pack of water stood by the metal utensils.

Richard took one look at the meal and scoffed. He shoved it from where his nurse had placed it, sending half the soup spilling to the floor. The other half was divided in between staying in the bowl and landing on Hermione's sheets. Their beds were much too close to each other for him to be throwing tantrums.

Infuriated but determined to remain polite, Hermione cleared her throat. "That was quite…" she paused to search for a light word, "uncalled for."

Richard sent her a glare, as if asking who exactly she thought she was, and more importantly, who she though _he_ was.

The nurse only sighed as she bent over to clean the mess. "This is the only lunch we're authorized to give you, sir, and there shall be none after it." She scooped a big sopping ball of tissue paper saturated with chicken soup from the ground, throwing it in the general garbage bin behind her. "I do suggest you build up your energy to leave tomorrow night."

Hermione joined the nurse in glaring at the boy, kicking her blankets off her feet to get to her knees and help the nurse pick up the scattered utensils.

"Thank you, Ms. Granger, but please, I urge you to take your rest."

"I will, don't you worry." Hermione smiled as she found the fork below her bed. "Just not in this room. I need to speak with someone superior, please." She placed the tool on the tray and retreated to the side of her bed. She pulled on her cardigan and picked up her own tray, taking it outside to the sitting rooms close by, refusing to look back at the sulking teenager.

The nurse only nodded, and after cleaning up the big mess, muttered, "I'm not paid enough for this shit", sighed, and scurried off to find someone from Patient Relations.

She returned shortly with the Head of Department, a well-dressed but incredibly stressed-looking older woman. She found Hermione in a visitor's seat, legs propped on other chairs, her tray on her lap, and a phone in hand. One of the Ministry-assigned guards stood beside her, as silent and stiff as a statue. Hermione was scrolling through previously ignored texts when the HOD showed up.

She greeted her with a gentle and understanding smile.

"Ms. Granger," she shook her hand. "I understand there has been a problem regarding your new room assignment."

"Yes, Ms...?"

"Fining."

"Well, Ms. Fining, my current roommate is a rather rude and immature young man who seems intent on insulting all that I am and stand for, and I simply mean to request another room. I do not mean to cause trouble, but I'm afraid a few hours are all I can deal with him for."

"Yes, I quite understand that." Fining thought about the problem at hand for a short while. "I want to solve your problem, Ms. Granger, I truly do. But unfortunately the hospital is currently slightly overcrowded due to the recent mass casualty. I'm sure you've heard of the incident. We honestly don't have much extra space."

"And you're saying a room switch isn't at all possible?"

"Not many of our patients are very comfortable at the moment. Most are sharing rooms, as you are. However, I do understand your roommate will be discharged tomorrow night. If you could bear with us for the next day—"

"And tolerate a teenager insulting me to my face all day?"

"I'm afraid so, ma'am. Do forgive us."

"Very well, then." Hermione was frustrated with the solution, but knew it wasn't the HOD's fault. "Thank you. If you don't mind, I'll just be staying here for a few more minutes."

"Of course."

Ms. Fining shook Hermione's hand once again and left with a shirt nod. Hermione sighed and sunk into her seat, preparing herself to ignore the roommate that awaited her. She closed her eyes, concentrating on her breathing. '_Just a few hours_,' she told herself.

She was interrupted only by the loud grandfather clock on the opposite side of the waiting room.

It banged five times. Five in the afternoon.

It was to this same chime that Draco entered the hospital a few floors down. He checked his watch; just in time for his shift. He wiped his brow as he hauled ass upstairs to the lounge. He changed quickly, ready for his first page when it came. _Check-up, Baby Doe. _

The baby girl he had found in the wreckage. He clipped the pager back onto his belt and took off to the maternity ward and NICU. Despite the child being out of his jurisdiction, he had asked for the nurses to page him regularly about her.

The hospital had still been unable to link the baby to any of the deceased through blood samples, and any and all patients who were found on the site and were conscious were questioned about the dead woman clutching the baby to her chest even after her death. The interrogations were aided with visual aid: a morbid candid taken to record the mother's passing.

No one had claimed the baby or the woman.

It saddened Draco to think that at the end of the day, the baby would have no home to return to. Possibly ever. But he was determined to continue the search outside the hospital.

He arrived not much later outside the NICU, staring in through the glass at the innocent child he had found not weeks before. She was doing well now, after severe treatment and excessive feeding. He knew he'd never be allowed in due to his fever, and he beckoned for a nurse to bring Baby Doe to the glass. She was awake and kicking. Literally. She had been an active child since the second Draco had picked her up the day of the mass casualty. She smiled with her eyes closed, happy in the nurse's arms as she brought the baby closer to Draco. He was glad to know she was doing well.

He buzzed in through the intercom. "Any updates on her parental status, Nurse Alice?" She shook her head sadly as she answered through the mike. "None, Healer Malfoy. We've asked everybody, but no one has claimed Baby Doe yet." Hearing the title that was assigned to her only reminded Draco of the harsh cruelties of what this young girl's future might hold. "You don't suppose they'd let us change her name, do you?"

"I'm not sure, sir." She watched Draco coo at the baby through the glass, who had just opened her eyes. "I can ask if you'd like."

"That would be much appreciated. What do you think of the name Athena, Alice?"

"It's a beautiful name, sir." She smiled down at the giggling and kicking child. Draco's pager rang again, and he bent to check it.

"If they allow, change her name to that." He waved at the baby and her nurse as he left, earning a soft laugh from the latter. "_Athena_," Alice whispered as she rocked the baby. She blushed as she watched Draco leave, not unlike the rest of the nurses in the ward.

Draco brought the pager up to his eyes, reading quickly and making his way to the correct floor, to Richard Mancair. It was the first time Draco had read the boy's last name properly, and he recognized it immediately. A Death Eater's nephew.

Three floors up, Hermione was just beginning to pick herself up to return to her room.

She nodded in acknowledgment of the nurse she had spoken with earlier, thanking her for trying. She crossed her other guard as the one accompanying her joined him.

She settled herself under the covers and draped her cardigan over her arms, silent as she looked up at the crappy reality show that was on. Both she and Ricky ignored each other through this entire process. Neither spoke a word to each other, even when their common doctor, Healer Malfoy, knocked at the door.

Draco cleared his throat, catching Hermione's attention. Ricky, however, remained glued to the screen.

"Ms. Granger," Draco said, surprised to see both patients in the same room. I'm glad to see you've settled in nicely.

"You wish, Malfoy," she mumbled, just loud enough for him to hear. She noticed that he'd returned to addressing her by her last name.

Ricky only spared a second to glance at the two, taking in their odd conversation. He said nothing as he turned away again, even as Draco stepped closer to his bed. "Mr. Mancair. I was paged for a check-up on you. Anything wrong? The nurse outside mentioned you told her to page me." His voice was not kind as he spoke to the teen.

"I want to leave. Now." Richard muttered, not facing either of them.

"I wouldn't suggest that right now, Richard," Draco explained. "You are still under observation."

"When can I leave?"

"Tomorrow, maximum. That is, if you don't do anything stupid." Richard's head snapped in Draco's direction, refusing to accept that date. "I need to go _now_." Draco only shook his head. "I'm afraid that's not possible."

The boy's head shook, violently. "I demand another doctor, immediately." He said, voice rising. "A Malfoy's opinion means nothing to me."

Hermione's eyes froze on the pair, listening. Draco, too, didn't say anything. He lowered his head and chuckled at his shoes. "Well, Mancair, that's not possible."

Richard spat at Draco's feet. Still, the doctor said nothing, determined to keep up his calmed front. "_Get me another doctor, now! _You Malfoys are always changing your mind, never sticking to your loyalties. How can I trust such scum to deal with my health?"

Despite the loud sound causing Draco's head to throb, he let the boy yell insults at him. He didn't have the energy to argue.

"_Well_," Draco heard another voice intervene. "Here I was thinking you'd be thanking the god doctor here." He recognized the voice without having to turn to face its source. Hermione Granger.

"He is the _only_ doctor in this entire hospital who didn't let you die the day you were brought into this hospital. He saved your _worthless_ life, and this is the way you repay him. He had no obligation to do that." She was yelling at the boy now. "_No obligation, whatsoever._ His entire life has been scarred by the horrors of the life you support. From the second they saw your mark, everyone deserted you. _Everyone_, but this man standing right here in front of you. You should be thanking him, you pathetic assh—"

"Hermione, that's enough," Draco said, quietly. She stopped at his command, though she didn't know why. "He's not worth it."

He looked back at the male patient in the room. "Tomorrow night." He left without further addressing either of them.


	17. Chapter 17

Hermione didn't know if she wanted to get back out of bed and run after him, but she really didn't want to stay behind with the Death Eater she had just yelled at.

She shot the boy one last menacing glare before she flung the covers off herself for the second time that day and ran out of the ward, pulling her IV stand behind her. She snatched the cardigan off the bed at the last minute and tossed it on as she ran behind Draco. The guards at the doorway sighed and had a quick Rock- Paper- Scissors match.

For a sick man, Draco was pretty fast when he was walking away from them. For a woman that was attached to an IV and had no shoes, Hermione was surprisingly faster.

She found him on the floor of a hallway in a ward she'd never been in before. And for someone who had been in the hospital long enough to pay rent, that was saying something—she'd been everywhere. There was only one explanation for his location. He'd been trying to hide away from her.

"Draco…"

He was sitting crouched, his back to the wall and his head in his hands, eyes closed. The few nurses who passed them in the empty hall sent fleeting looks of concern their way, but said nothing. Hermione sat cross-legged beside him, silent as well.

She had felt what he was feeling before. It was horrible, knowing you'd done everything for someone, especially when you didn't have to, and be repaid with such venom. She'd felt it with Ron, Harry, and even Viktor. It was the reason she had become so isolated as an adult.

And then she realized that it was exactly what she was doing to Draco.

He didn't push her away when she placed her hand on his arm, like she had expected him to. She would have deserved it. Instead, he covered her hand with one of his own. His touch was gentle.

When he finally opened his eyes to look at her, they were red-rimmed. He let their foreheads touch then, and they were closer than they had ever been. She held on to his collar and pulled him closer. Then, anyone who was passing them was averting their eyes, because then Draco and Hermione had their lips on the other's. It was as if in that moment, they had completely forgotten where they were. As if there weren't uncomfortable nurses bustling past them in a hurry to save people's lives. As if nothing else really mattered.

While their kiss didn't last long, the impact of it did.

They pulled apart, and as they did, Hermione felt electricity burn through her. It had been years since she'd shared such an intimate moment with someone. And then Draco was telling her to take off her clothes, something she hadn't heard in quite some time—what?

"What?" She said, startled. They were in the middle of a hallway, for Christ's sake. But the look in his eyes told her she'd missed something. An important something.

"Your jacket, Hermione. Take it off right now." He looked panicked. Scared, even.

"Draco, I have a gaping hole in the back of my gown, I can't just—" she was cut off by her doctor's coat being flung at her face, and he in turn wrestled with her cardigan. "Take it off, right now." He repeated.

"Chill," she said under her breath, letting him pull it off of her. She quickly followed his motion with putting on his white coat. The sleeves stretched over her hands, and the hem reached below the one of her gown. It smelled vaguely of sandalwood.

The doctor pulled the knit fabric to his nose, smelling it. His eyes widened after a moment, and he didn't say anything to her as he took off in the other direction, disappearing into a door that lead to a flight of stairs.

"I'll be back in a second!" she heard him yell.

She waited for him patiently in a nearby chair, glancing at the clock above her every few minutes. By the time he finally decided to show up again, he was out of breath and had left her there for fifteen minutes. He took a punch from his inhaler, before sitting beside her and casting a wary eye to her bodyguard.

"The jacket," he said slowly, "I hope you weren't too fond of it."

"Draco, what the fu—"

"Let me explain." He held up his hand slightly and she stopped, exasperated. "I've given the thing to the medical examiner, and though there are no set results, we have a feeling that your jacket contains poison. More specifically, the Bloodroot Poison."

* * *

The Ministry of Magic showed up not twenty minutes later. The guards, with direct access, had contacted them immediately after there was cause to believe that Hermione's life was at risk at the hospital. The two guards were berated for not noticing the danger, and they were quickly taken away for debriefing.

But the hospital was no longer safe enough. While only a day before it had been the safest place for her to be, no one could be trusted anymore.

Now nurses were preparing to move her to a safer location, but where, no one knew.

Draco sat beside his patient in the emergency meeting that had been convened for the occasion. Around the table sat familiar faces: the Ministry's Medical Department HOD, the chief of the hospital, the Ministry's secret service, the HOD of Magical Crime, and most daunting of all, the Minister himself. No one else was authorised to know of the new location of transfer.

Hermione remained silent in the heated discussion about her. She had kept herself hidden away from the Magical world for so long that she knew she didn't have what it took to pitch in her opinion about the matter.

Draco kept a light hand resting on her thigh while the others conversed. Her own hand rested gently over it.

The guards of the secret service had thoroughly interrogated Draco about the poison, and how he'd found it. It was only after the session that he was declared no longer a suspect. That left the rest of the hospital to check out. Every nurse, doctor, or patient who even mildly interacted with her— because now Hermione was the subject of an attempted murder.

"Potter owns a safe house not too far from here." The Minister said. He was a close friend of the Potter-Weasley family. "I'm sure he'd be more than willing to let us use it for some time."

Hermione's fingers squeezed Draco's. She wasn't comfortable with the idea.

"The Malfoy family owns many estates around the globe," Draco interrupted, his low volume enough to catch everyone's attention. "Many of which are considered abandoned by the Muggle and Magical world. I can take her there. She'll have access to 24 hour medical attention, and I won't let her out of my sight."

The officials looked at each other, trying to find reasons why the idea wasn't plausible.

"And how will we excuse your absence at the hospital?" The chief asked. "It's not like you won't be missed."

"A vacation," Draco said simply. "I'll be taking my son with us, so it is quite believable."

No one said anything else. "It's settled. Move Ms. Granger and Mr. Malfoy to one of his estates by the end of today. Dismissed."

The shuffling of paper that followed was immediate. Preparations were to be made, and fast.

* * *

Neither of the two had the strength to Apparate with a passenger, so they took the train to a stop near one of Draco's abandoned estates. Truth be told, none of the houses were truly abandoned. He used to take Astoria to each of them, familiarizing her with every neighborhood. "Just in case," he had said.

Draco took Hermione by the shoulders as she held Scorpius by the hand. Draco led the both of them into the house.

Ever since leaving the hospital, Hermione had grown weaker. Every passing minute swept away more and more of her energy. The hospital walls themselves had always had the magical ability to keep people going for longer. It was why their mortality rate was significantly lower than Muggle hospitals; the walls simply gave them more time to work things out.

Hermione's legs threatened to give out every second minute, and Draco was afraid he wouldn't get her to a bed in time before she fell and managed to cause herself more harm.

He unlocked the door without letting go of her, letting her lean on his as much as she needed to. The journey had been long, and she'd managed to get very little rest.

Behind the door, a surprise was waiting for her. Though she didn't have the energy to show her happiness, Scorpius more than covered it.

"Crookshanks!" he exclaimed, jumping over to the cat excitedly, even though they'd only been parted a few hours. Hermione only smiled at the old feline rubbing against her leg, fur warm in contrast to her freezing skin.

After Draco gently set his patient down on a nearby loveseat, he asked offered her a drink. It had been over a month since she had had a sip of any alcohol, so she politely requested a whiskey. She closed her burning eyes as she waited for it, and was pleased when she felt the familiar sensation of her cat jumping to sleep beside her. "Oh, Crookshanks, how I've missed you." She muttered, stroking his head. He purred in delight, and Scorpius joined the both of them on the couch. He offered Hermione a packet of crackers. She helped herself to one and smiled at the young boy. He truly was a well-mannered child. "Thank you, Scorpius."

"You're welcome, Mithith Granger."

Hermione only had the strength for a soft laugh. "You can call me Hermione if you like."

"Her-miy-nee?" he said, struggling with the syllables. "Mynie?"

She laughed again, nodding. "Mynie is okay with me." Scorpius smiled at her widely just as his father walked into the room, hands occupied with two freshly washed glasses, and a bottle tucked under his arm.

"Hey. Sorry I took long." He said to her. "I just received some bad news." He continued, and his face affirmed it. Hermione turned to face him. "Not at all. Is everything okay?"

Draco shook his head as he set the glasses on the coffee table, pouring their drinks and handing her hers. "Professor Snape just passed away."

"Oh."

A moment passed where they drank – and Scorpius chewed – in silence.

"To Severus Snape," Hermione then said, refilling and raising her glass. Draco pressed his glass to hers. "To Snape." He repeated, downing the drink in one swing.

The sun was just beginning to rise, and the soft orange gleam reminded Draco of how tired his son must be. The two adults had been travelling all night, and while Scorpius had only been awake for the minority of those hours, Draco knew he still had a sleep schedule to follow. He couldn't risk breaking a three year old's rest cycle.

Seeing as it had been years since the Malfoy-Greengrass family had visited the home, they didn't find a suitable bed for Scorpius to sleep in. They resorted to stacking pillows on either side of a queen sized bed in one guest hall to ensure Scorpius's safety. When the child finally dozed off, the two had the house to themselves. Though both had endured long travel, and both were exhausted, neither found within themselves the call to sleep. So Draco took his patient by the hand and showed her around the humble home.

It was a one-storey villa, with white-washed walls and pristine windows. Truth be told, there was more window than there was wall. Large, heavy green curtains draped over the smooth glass.

The sunrise was beginning to brighten up the entire hall. The two took their time walking to the patio, where they had a clear view of the nearby sea. The building was constructed on high land for further vantage point.

"It's beautiful." Hermione whispered.

Draco looked at her and smiled. "That it is."

* * *

**In loving memory of Alan Rickman, one of the pillars of my childhood.**

(Pretend for the sake of this story that Snape didn't die in the seventh book please and thank)


	18. Chapter 18

Sleep came a few hours after that. They had stayed up on the patio, watching the sun rise until it finally took its place at the top of the sky, beaming over the town.

Hermione had been granted the master bedroom, where most of the medical equipment was placed for her convenience. She rested on a bed that had once been Draco and Astoria's, and before that, Lucius and Narcissa's.

At first Draco had offered to sleep on the floor; a place from which he was always available if she needed him. He seemed to think it wasn't logical for him to sleep in another room altogether, where he might not be able to hear the frantic beeping of her heart monitor – if it came to that. But Hermione urged him not to be foolish. The floors were hard and cold, and he already had contracted some sort of flu. They quarreled about it, whisper-shouting at each other, only restricting their voices for the sake of the sleeping boy in the next room.

In the end, they had settled for Draco to reside in the hall on a couch, where he would be easy to access and still quite comfortable.

Before leaving, he hooked her up to the numerous machines that had been magically shrunk and brought with them in Hermione's luggage. He spent an extra fifteen minutes in the process of trying not to make her uncomfortable with him lifting her shirt to place the plastic stickers on her ribs and chest.

The stickers were cold against her skin, but she said nothing about it.

He retired soon later, after checking up on his son in the adjacent room.

Watching his back disappear out of her door, Hermione clutched the only jacket she had against herself, holding it in an attempt to comfort herself. The smell, after all, was intoxicating. She always was a sucker for sandalwood.

Her fingers traced over the embroidered title on the front left pocket of the coat. And Hermione Granger fell asleep while her fingers grazed over the words 'Healer Draco Malfoy' over and over again.

* * *

By the time Crookshanks woke her up, in was four in the afternoon.

Draco hadn't woken her up, hoping to let her rest. He himself had awoken two hours before. He had showered, and with his wet hair clinging to the back of his neck, was busying himself with preparing lunch for Scorpius. Scorpius had been up for hours, playing with his foam books and plastic trucks. He even had a plastic light up wand by his side. Occasionally he waved it around, pretending his magic was doing something.

The young boy had already been exhibiting signs of magic, like most pureblood children did at that age. His fourth birthday was fast approaching, and in fact, he was a little late for Malfoy family standards. Narcissa had been terrified that her only grandson would turn out to be a squib. As he waved his wand around now, a toy truck seemed to jump nearer.

Crookshanks lazed on the counter in the kitchen, eyes following Draco eagerly as the old feline awaited the canned cat food Draco was bringing closer.

"How was your sleep?" he called to Hermione when he heard her groan to take the machines off of her. He brought her egg on toast and tea when he came in, taking down the abundance of equipment.

"Fine," she mumbled, taking off a bite of the bread. The slice crunched in between her teeth as she chewed. He had to get close in order to pull away the stickers on her body, but she pushed his face away when a cold droplet of water fell out of his hair and dropped onto her stomach. She pulled them off herself, ripping them off like bandaids to avoid the pain. He laughed at her sensitivity to the water as another drop hit her in the arm.

Her late-day breakfast was finished quickly, and with all contraptions removed— excluding the Muggle Potion IV— she made the decision to shower.

Draco pestered her about it, asking her repetitively if she was up to standing up by herself for more than three and a half minutes. She told him she could, but then without a question further he urged for her to take a bath instead. She said no, and he said too bad. He prepared the master bedroom's tub for her while she pulled towels from closets.

"I'll be right outside," he told her, and closed the door to leave her be.

"I don't need a sitter, Malfoy!" she yelled, but he only chuckled and sat on the floor outside the bathroom. Scorpius joined him soon, making his father play with toy vehicles. Together they made the most atrocious of sound effects, and if Hermione heard, she said nothing.

They spent the hour there, on the floor, Hermione relaxing her muscles in the tub. Her one hand— IV hand— remained dry out of the water. Draco knocked a few times during that time to make sure she was okay.

When she finally emerged from the bath, she got dressed in a loose oversize shirt that reached below her calves. It might as well have been a badly fitted dress.

She knocked once from the inside of the room, warning Draco to move his weight off the door unless he wanted to fall back when she opened the door. He obliged, and she opened the door. he saw her tired stance, her body leaning on the IV stand as she helped herself out.

He offered her his hand, which she took, and they went to sit on the patio like they had in the morning.

The house was as much witness protection as Draco could provide. It had been built by his grandfather— his mother's father— when Draco's grandmother had been pregnant with their first child— Narcissa. The Black family always did have the taste for beauty. The walls — now white washed— has once been black, to symbolize the their blood purity. The windows that stretched to the checking were handcrafted by the greatest glass wielder of the time, Hrabkova. No natural disaster could take down those windows. Not even Scorpius.

The garden up front was more of a Quidditch field than a garden. The tall poles with their gleaming hoops stood high above the roofs of the building.

The patio was the most gorgeous feature of the entire home, regardless of the beauty of it all.

The way it looked down on to the sea took Hermione's breath away. The high ground that the house sat on provided further view of the white beach below them, the waves of the North Sea sloppily dragging themselves into the sand. Not a person was to be seen for miles.

The air up on the deck was cold, and rightly so. The breeze swept Hermione's hair away, pulling the strands across her face. She tucked the hair behind her ear just as Draco offered her a red drink.

"Trying to get me drunk, Draco?" she laughed.

He laughed. "It's non-alcoholic, Granger. Imagine the type of doctor is be to get my patient drunk the second time in twelve hours. It's your mediation. Just fancy."

She took the glass in her small hands from the tray he had placed it on.

"Forgot to do the dishes, then?"

"You bet," he laughed, and watched as she downed the whole cup in two sips.

He sat at the chair beside her, watching Scorpius try to piece together a fairly large and complicated puzzle. It was going as well as Draco had predicted— not great. But, it was good training for the child's magic control, no matter how frustrating it was for him.

After many years of declining its existence, Hermione's magic was the same. It was weak, almost physically transparent. Dying, slowly – at the same rate Scorpius's magic was becoming more alive.

She did regret it, of course, leaving her magic behind. But it had made her life so much simpler. She had become another Muggle worker, living blissfully like she was unaware of the beauty and life behind the walls of Platform 9 ¾.

But there was no Voldemort. No Bellatrix. No fear, agony, or pain.

She sighed loudly, and Draco looked at her, almost like he knew what was running through her mind: the brightest witch of her age – reduced to a Muggle civilian. He didn't say anything. He only placed his hand on her bare arm. When she looked at him, he saw the false smile plastered onto her face, but the redness of her eyes persevered. She tried to look cheerful as she said, "Don't you think Scorpius needs a haircut?"

Draco looked at his son; his platinum hair identical to his father's shining in the sunlight. It fell to the bottom of his ears.

"He really does, doesn't he?"

* * *

Hermione felt coddled as she watched the two fall to their hands and knees to spread out the large plastic sheet onto the middle of the second living room. Being poorly decorated, there was little furniture to move for Hermione's work station.

Draco then lifted Scorpius onto the high-chair in front of his patient.

"You ready, Scorpi?" she asked him. No one had called him that since his mother had died. It didn't affect the boy (he hardly remembered it, after all), but Draco's eyebrows rose at the nickname.

Scorpius nodded eagerly.

"You _do_ know what you're doing— right, Granger?" Draco whispered to her from behind her.

She flashed him an obscene gesture, which made him laugh and pull her hand down so Scorpius wouldn't be able to see through the mirror.

The haircut didn't take long. Small clumps of the three-year old boy's wet hair fell to the plastic gracefully; resembling the feathers of Dumbledore's dying phoenix.

"All done," Hermione announced with a smile to the little Malfoy. "Thank you, Mynie!" His large beam warmed her heart as he jumped off the stool to show his father, who observed at it with scrutiny.

"What do we say, Scorpi; do you think Daddy needs a haircut as well?" she said as she walked over to them, advancing with her scissors slicing through the air menacingly, "A little snip?"

"_Don't you dare_, Granger," he said as he watched her lift her water sprayer.

She sprayed him in the neck, dodging his attempt to snatch away her bottle. For it, he got a spritz of water on the torso. She began walking away from him, triumphant.

"I am _scandalized_." He waited for her guard to lower, and then held her from behind, wrapping his free arm around her waist to immobilize her. He peeled her fingers away from the bottle, spraying her in the back. She gasped loudly as the Malfoys laughed at her.

She got a few more randomly shot sprays before she could wrench the almost empty bottle out of her doctor's hands. Her hair had straightened, and her clothes were soaked, clinging to her skin. Hermione's devious smile was the only hint Draco got to her imminent attack. She was already planning her vengeance, and he knew it.

She aimed the bottle carefully, knowing that she had only one shot before the water was all gone. She pulled the trigger when she was sure of it, and the liquid spritzed out and shot Draco in the eye. He was blinded for a second, and his opponent used the opportunity to pull him towards her, tackling him to the floor, grabbing her scissors, and snipping a fraction of hair from the back of his neck. It was hardly noticeable, but when the lock fell to the floor and mixed into the identically coloured hair of his son, Draco couldn't tell how much it was.

He scoffed at her, a smile gracing his lips, both of them on the floor of the living room. Her hand rest on his neck, and then her smile faded.

"Draco," she started. "You're hot."

Draco laughed and brushed it off, "Hermione I've been hot since year six."

She narrowed her eyes at him, her blush unmissable. "You idiot— I mean to say that you have a really high fever."

"Yeah— I know."

"And you're not doing anything about it?" Hermione snapped, stepping to her feet, "As a doctor I thought you would have been a little more responsible."

"I am perfectly fine to handle myself, Hermione." Draco said as he stood, pulling the bottom of his shirt in an attempt to make himself look straighter. "I do not need you to worry about me. Ironically, that is my job."

Hermione scoffed at him. "Draco, you are sick. You have a very bad fever. You are probably contagious; I don't think you have the right to be worrying about whether or not your charge is taking care of you. Just be grateful someone is." She huffed at him, baffled. "And to think that you were offering to sleep on the floor."

Draco rolled his eyes as he stood up, an action that did not go by unnoticed by Hermione. She glared at him as he said, "Trust me, Granger, I am fine, leave me be."

She held her harsh look until their eyes didn't meet any longer, and then some more.

"_Draco Malfoy_," she began, but then her voice softened. "I need you to take care of yourself before you can take care of me. There's nothing you can do to help me get better if you're dying because of a coughing fit that could've been solved with some soup."

She didn't have to say much after that to coax him into the master bedroom. He slipped under the covers while she checked his temperature.

"Get some rest," she told him. "I don't suppose you've had any of that lately."

He only sighed, closing his eyes as she continued. "Scorpi and I will be here all day."

She was about to leave the room after setting a warm glass of water by the night stand, but Draco reached for her hand. "Stay." He whispered.

"But Scorpius..."

"Sh; he'll be alright."

She nodded then, and sat beside his legs, still holding his one hand in two of her own. "Sleep now," she said.

And that was what he did.


	19. Chapter 19

As soon as Draco drifted off, Hermione slipped her hand gently out of his grip and turned to the door, hastening her pace to get medication. Draco's eyes briefly flickered open when Hermione was beginning to place warm towels in his neck, but hushed words sent him back to sleep.

It was only after he had settled down and climbed into a comfortable bed and alleviated the stress of having to take care of two people that the fever started to take its full effect. With him running all around town and not paying much attention to his own wellbeing, Draco had managed to completely ignore the severity of his fever. It certainly was not natural, this temperature. This, Hermione knew. Despite the lack of touch between them, she knew just how warm he was getting.

She kept a lukewarm bowl of soup on the bedside table that was hers not a few hours ago.

She sat by the bed like he usually did when she was in the hospital, reading her book and checking his temperature every time she remembered.

Scorpius played silently outside when Hermione finally had the time to check up on him. He'd been alone for a few hours now, and being the silent and polite little child he was, had decided not to bother the two.

She beckoned for him to take her hand, and she led him to the kitchen.

"Are you hungry, Scorpi?" she asked him, and he nodded vigorously. It must have been a couple of hours since the young boy had eaten, so she got the oven running and pulled some freshly bought vegetables the Ministry had left at the house before their arrival.

Hermione tossed the broccoli and carrots lightly in olive oil before setting the entire dish in the oven. She also gave Draco's child a box of crackers and cheese to nibble on while he waited.

Hermione couldn't remember the last time she'd actually cooked nor had the care of another human being placed in her hands. The life she led as part of the UN truly took away all spare time she had for herself.

The time she had spent away from the familiarity of the Magic world had not been easy. She had walked away at twenty-two, five years after the battle of Hogwarts. She had tried to keep fighting through it, determined not to let the past consume her, but she had been so completely shattered that even those five years seemed like they were forever.

She had maintained contact with Ronald and Ronald alone, distancing herself from the Potters and other Weasleys. She had kept Ron close in the hopes that he would leave his world behind and join her, but alas, he had not loved her that much.

Still she had continued dating him, with their schedule clashes and arrangement muddles. They had agreed over owl mail one night when they were both at work that they should move in together, but that had done nothing still to improve their relationship.

Then after months of stolen kisses and quickies in party bathrooms, Hermione had discovered that she had fallen pregnant. The excitement and joy was what had begun to solidify their love again. The growing belly with a promise of a beautiful child. He had taken more time off work to be with her, and to tour around Muggle London for an apartment away from the magic.

But their eagerness had been short-lived. As was their child. After growing dizzy one afternoon when Ron was at the Ministry, Hermione had fallen down the flight of stairs that had led to their apartment on the seventh floor. It had been that one day in which their building's elevators had been closed for maintenance. She had lost the baby, and with that, her will.

She had grown colder after that, spending more time at work to distance herself from the baby that could have been hers and the joy that she could have had.

They were going to name her Rose.

It was only when the compassionate side of the two's relationship died did the bond they shared truly begin to break. With Hermione wilting away from her former self, Ron had seen no more reason to stay. They had been scheduled for a talk – and argument – before that horrible day in March came around.

Then they fought. And she had cried, for she knew that Ronald had tried to salvage what he could from their life together. It was impossible. He left, and after that, she had spent the next two years alone. So utterly and completely alone that she had numbed herself to the feeling.

The clock chiming on the oven caused her to stir from her sleep. It was only then that she had realized that she had actually been sleeping at all.

Hermione lifted her head from off the table, looking around for Scorpius. He was sitting patiently, eating away at his crackers and swinging his legs through the gap in his bar stool. He watched her as she drowsily pulled the cooked vegetables out of the oven and set it on the large dining table in the middle of the kitchen, and invited him over for dinner. They ate, talking.

"So, Scorpi, what are you colouring there?" she allowed her head to nod to the sheet of paper that the boy was occupied with, even as he ate.

Scorpius smiled proudly as he slid it over to her. It was a drawing he had done himself, using the pens on the desk of Draco's study. The figures vaguely looked like horses.

"Daddy says it's a thestral!" he said, pointing to the drawing, "He says I'm very good at making them!"

Hermione's heart fell. The child had seen the death of his mother with his own two eyes. Where had they been when it happened? A hospital? Hermione's eyes began to glisten at the thought of the three year old boy moments after witnessing his mother die, head buried in his father's chest as he cried.

"Well, it's very beautiful." She told him.

He beamed up at her, and said, "Thanks, Mynie!" before putting a forkful of carrots into his mouth, chewing as he continued colouring in his thestral. He even helped clean up the dishes when they were both done.

By then it was already late, possibly even way past Scorpius's bedtime. She told him to head on to bed, and that she would be with him soon to say goodnight. "I just need to check up on Daddy first," she explained.

"Tell him I said goodnight, I love him," Scorpius said through a yawn, and then he trudged into the guest hall he had slept in the first night.

Hermione slowly opened the door to the master bedroom, instantly noticing how cold the room was. She crept towards the air conditioning remote to turn up the heat. She found Draco still in bed, legs tangled in the sheets, body breaking out into a cold sweat. She touched his forehead lightly with her fingertips, not surprised with how warm they came back.

"Draco," she whispered as she shook his shoulder gently. "Draco, wake up."

He made a slight noise, stirred, and then his gray eyes opened one by one, staring into hers. He looked around, startled. "What time…?"

"Don't get up," she told him. "You haven't eaten anything since breakfast. Take this." She placed a warm cup of soup in his hands, her skin cold against his. He drank it when she pestered him to, but otherwise felt no other obligation to consume food. All he wanted was sleep, but that also Hermione did not allow him. "Drink this fever medication. Your temperature is worse than I had anticipated."

He drank that too, obediently, and then pressed himself back into his pillow. "Let me sleep, Hermione," he whispered.

He did not sound well at all.

"Okay, then," she replied, and pulled the covers back onto him, although he desisted. "Scorpius says good night. He loves you."

"Good night, Bub," he mumbled, and then he was truly asleep. Hermione sighed as she stood, moving quietly to their medical baggage to find another dose of the Basic Muggle Potion to replace her diminishing one. She sat at a rocking chair at the other side of the king-size, placing the bags at the foot of it where it wouldn't disturb Draco.

It occurred to her that this chair was probably built for the comfort of the Malfoy's wives, to facilitate them as pregnant women or new mothers. It was quite spacious, and skilfully handmade. She vaguely wondered whether Narcissa had ever sat in this chair, holding her young son as she rocked him to sleep. It was probable.

She looked at the sleeping Malfoy, and tried to imagine what he'd be like as a baby. His tufts of Malfoy-blond hair, his large gray eyes that identically portrayed his mother's gentle touch, and his small hands gripping Narcissa's fingers. Looking at him now, he looked serene, kind, gentle. The way his breath made his entire chest rise and fall was so comforting, so stable in its continuity that it was beginning to lull her to sleep.

But his breathing was laboured.

And that was precisely when she remembered about the stories Draco had told her about his childhood.

His father's abuse. His mother's suffering. His childhood virtually non-existent. And his breathing problems. His prematurity and broken lungs.

Hermione shot up, frantically scanning the room for Draco's ventilator. She didn't know the severity of his condition, so she was quick in pulling it to the bedside.

She held the back of Draco's head with one hand, pulling the oxygen mask onto his face.

It wasn't an immediate reaction, but the restrictive breathing began to ease. She sighed, gently allowing his head to fall back onto the pillow. She then pulled the covers over his shoulders so he wouldn't freeze in the cold air, and took advantage of the fact that he couldn't complain now that he was asleep.

Hermione brought the rocking chair over to the bed, sitting in it once again and keeping a wary eye on his breathing, and before she knew it, she had fallen asleep with her head on the bed, her face inches away from Draco's, and their fingers almost touching.

Hours later there was a soft tap on Hermione's shoulder, jerking her awake. She briefly thought about snatching Draco's wand from off the bedside and using it to defend herself against the intruder— until she realized that the intruder was the frightened three year old son of Draco Malfoy.

"Mynie," he whispered, clutching his blanket tightly, "I can't sleep."

Rightfully so. There was a loud, ferocious storm outside, with flashes of light and loud thundering crashes that followed. Hermione glanced at the clock; it was two in the morning.

"I want Daddy," he said, close to tears.

Hermione looked between the sleeping father and the tearful son, and what she restricted from them broke her.

"My love, I'm sorry, but Daddy's very sick." She held the boy's hands gently. "I wouldn't want you to get sick as well."

"B-but I…" he stammered, unable to continue.

"Can I join you?" Hermione suggested. "Would that help you at all?"

Scorpius sobbed, but nodded. "Then let's go," she said, picking him up and allowing him to rest on her shoulder. Dragging her IV along, she took them to Scorpius's room and gently laid the boy under the covers, tucking him in before moving over to the other side to settle in beside him. Instantly he was at her side, whimpering. He was terrified.

Another bolt of lightning escaped through the gaps in the curtains, and Scorpius flinched as thunder accompanied it. It was getting much louder.

"Shh," she whispered into his hair, rubbing his arms to rid his skin of the cold.

It took about another hour, but Scorpius finally settled down and fell asleep. Hermione had made sure of it before she allowed herself to sleep as well, her arms wrapped protectively around the small child. They were both shrouded in Draco's coat, after she had wrapped it around Scorpius so that he could be enveloped in the familiarity of his father's scent.

* * *

**Hey friends! x**

**I know a lot of you have asked for me to develop Scorpius and Hermione's relationship, so there you go; a cute little filler chapter.**

**Feel free to ask for anything else you'd particularly enjoy to see. xx**


	20. Chapter 20

Hermione was used to being around sick people.

Ever since she was a child, she had been surrounded by her parents' patients. A shared work schedule between her parents made it very hard for Hermione to go out much. Her father's assistant, Melissa, came to pick her up from school more often than her parents did, and because she was still very young, took her straight back to the two dentists' clinic. It was for this reason that most of her studying took place on the coffee tables of waiting rooms, or in the corners of her mother's office.

It was also why she didn't have much exposure to the rest of her life. At age ten, she would have been expected to be at sleepovers and parks, but her parents' schedules strictly forbade it. So she had taken to wandering around the rest of the hospital.

She had made good friends with nurses, learning basic medical procedures, stepping out of the way of doctors, and sneaking into patients' rooms. It had been the only way she could have satisfied her curiosity. Sometimes she would get caught and lightly scolded, but most of the time she had managed to get away with the monkey business. It was how she had developed her hiding and eavesdropping skills.

She had learnt a lot about rare diseases (due to the fact that the 'Rare Diseases and Illnesses' ward was the closest to 'Dentistry and Orthodontics'.) It was what she had seen there that had prompted her to pursue reading, and search for further education. Often she had made friends with the patients themselves, although their ailments had usually left them in the morgue not too long after she had come into their acquaintance.

She had set her sights on medical research at the age of eleven, shortly before she received her acceptance letter from Hogwarts, changing her life forever.

Her childhood experiences were also the reason why she had always been so calm at hospitals; her entire childhood had taken place in one. But it was also the reason she knew she was going to die when Draco diagnosed her with Bloodroot Poisoning. She had seen much too many rare diseases to believe that she was going to have luck on her side with this one.

These were the thoughts that woke her, when it was almost twelve in the afternoon. Scorpius was beside her, still covered in his father's coat. She carefully got up, after softly whispering into Scorpius's ear to wake up. He did so almost instantly, but claimed he wanted ten more minutes. She allowed him to have it, but only after promising her that the next time she asked, he'd awake.

The young boy proved true to his word. He got up and brushed his teeth himself, and then helped her with preparing breakfast.

Hermione was still weak from their long travel two nights ago. She felt drained no matter how long she slept, and found that she had to eat much more to satisfy her hunger. That said, the Basic Muggle Potion altered her appetite so much that Draco noted she had been eating half of what he had recommended she did. That was extremely problematic. He often pestered her about her diet, approaching her hour after hour and asking her if she wanted a quick bite. More often than not, she'd refuse, and he's insist, until he forced her into a few bites. Despite his efforts, however, Hermione's weight was dropping faster than Draco could ever hope to make rise.

During the twelve years the two had not seen each other, Draco had been studying medicine for seven, and actively practicing it for the five years to follow. It was because of this that he clearly knew the signs of an imminent death like no one else. And it almost always began with a loss of appetite.

He had shared this with her when he had noticed her pushing the food around her plate. She had only nodded, still not eating. They had quarreled at the dinner table, until they had noticed how much it was disturbing Scorpius. They hadn't talked about again.

One o'clock found Draco joining them, disoriented. He had slept longer than he had in years. He fixed himself a bowl of cereal, muttering hellos to the two. He smiled when he greeted Hermione, but beamed when he saw his son.

"Scorpius!" he said. "Happy birthday!"

Hermione looked to the small boy in disbelief. "You didn't tell me!" she said. "Happy birthday, Scorpi! How old are you now?"

Draco's son smiled before he held up four fingers, blushing at the attention.

"So I'll be getting my wish then," Scorpius said as his father lifted him to plant a kiss on his cheek.

"What's that, Bub?"

"Remember? I wished that you would stay home more and now you are."

Draco saw Hermione in the corner of his eye, touched at the young boy's words. She smiled, a delicate hand resting on her chest. She held on to her IV rod as she watched the two.

"That is true, Scorp!"

Draco turned to Hermione. She looked at him through understanding eyes. Though Scorpius would be getting exactly what he had wished for, it wasn't going to be easy to maintain. They were still in hiding, still cautious of anyone and everyone.

Not wanting to open up that topic, they moved to the kitchen. The door closed behind Draco as he followed her in.

"Feeling better?" Hermione asked as he came closer to her. Scorpius outside, having returned to his puzzles.

Draco took hold of the handle of the brewed coffee on the table behind her, maintaining eye contact even as he got closer. Their hands grazed when he pulled his back. Her heart jumped a little, but the feeling was gone when his hand was.

Draco shook his head, and said nothing. He took the noted in his head; he had a raging headache, and his limbs were sore from the fever.

Hermione hesitated, but took Draco's wrist between her fingers, before his hand had travelled too far away from her. She held it, silent. He didn't say a word as she navigated her fingers through his, not meeting his eyes. It occurred to him for a second how beautiful she looked. Despite the fact that she had her hair in a _really _messy bun, wore a simple black t-shirt, and ugly _The Walking Dead _pajamas, he was taken aback by her.

"You're still pretty warm," she muttered.

Wordlessly he took his other hand to her chin, gently raising it to make their eyes meet.

Those beautiful eyes.

Her heart stumbled when she looked at him. It was a feeling she had been hoping to avoid, but also one she had not felt for a long time before Draco had come back into her life.

"I'm still quite unwell," he said to her as she began to draw closer to him, her fingers still wrapped around his hand.

"I know." And she leaned in.

He didn't miss the chance. He met his lips to hers softly, only brushing at first. Then it became stronger. Draco set the coffee on the closest table, so hastily that some of the brewer's contents spilled onto the marble.

She felt his hand slip from her grip, seeking journey to her jaw, and Draco's hold on her brought her closer to him.

It was blissful, kissing her. It was like suddenly he could forget about the fact that she was sick. About how he had still not found a proper cure for her. That he was the world's worst doctor, father, and person. He could forget it all.

It was oblivion, kissing him. It made her feel like she could no longer care about the sickness that consumed her. That the fight that raged in her between wizards and muggles no longer existed. That she was insanely close to death. She could stop caring about all of it.

And in those few moments, everything was alright.

* * *

But maybe a few moments were all that Draco and Hermione were meant to have in the world.

Their intimacy in the kitchen was quickly stolen away when they heard Scorpius's footsteps near. They broke away from each other and awkwardly faced the door just as the small boy came through it. Hermione's cheeks and Draco's ears raged the same blush colour as Scorpius came to them, suspecting nothing.

"Because it's my birthday," he started shyly, stroking a plastic dinosaur in between his fumbling hands, "may I get cake?"

Draco smiled. "Of course, little man! Come; let's make it together, you and I."

Scorpius broke into a grin. "Can Mynie help?" he asked, looking to Hermione with pleading guys. She knew as she looked at him that she could never resist such an innocent and beautiful smile.

"Of course," Draco answered for her. "If she'd like to."

Hermione cracked a smile. "Only because I don't want to Scorpius to get salmonella."

"Great!" Draco said as he turned back to his son, hoisting him onto the kitchen counter, only a few inches away from the coffee pot he had strewn away. "I'll get the eggs – Hermione, do you know where the flour is?"

She nodded, and together the two of them brought out the necessary baking equipment. Scorpius pretended to help from his marble counter throne. Draco and Hermione had to make do with improvisations for measuring cups and a mixer, resorting to bowls and the use of Draco's magic.

Three hours, two shirts, a carton of milk, and a broken egg later, Draco slipped the blue cake batter into the oven.

Hermione took a wet towel to the counter, swiping it clean of the great mess they had made. She wore a large gray sweater she had taken from Draco's suitcase when he had ruined her clothes with vanilla essence. The hem came to just above her knees, and like the rest of Draco's clothes, smelt like sandalwood. She had to roll the sleeves a few times to prevent the cuffs from passing her fingers, and prevent ruining them with the cake. She had replaced her pajamas with shorts not dirtied by eggs. Truly, the two of them and Scorpius had made quite the mess.

Her face still powdered with flour, Hermione led the ruins of the table into a garbage can with one clean swipe. Draco watched her as she stroked a rouge strand of hair from her face with the back of her wrist, trying to keep it from her eyes. Strangely, it reminded him of the countless times he had seen her do the same when her hands were dirty with potion ingredients in Snape's dungeons.

"Let me help you," he said, as she began leaning over to clean the floors. Her IV awkwardly yanked at her arm just as she leaned too far away from it. "Shit, _ow_ – yeah go ahead." She handed him the wet towel. She inspected her IV arm, it throbbing from the pull.

After washing his hands at the sink, Draco turned to her. She still held her elbow in pain. He came from behind her and brushed against it. "Let me," he said into her ear. The skin was beginning to bruise. Slowly, and gently, he peeled off the translucent sticker, exposing the needle. He pulled it out of her skin, and blood bloomed instantly. Taking a paper towel, he held it to her arm.

He cradled her elbow as he led her to the master bedroom, where all their medical supplied remained. He set her onto the bed and brought out a simple first-aid kit from the bedside drawer.

He examined her skin; the yank had resulted in a small tear by her elbow. She didn't need stitches, so he just bandaged her arm with a cotton padding. He planned to inject her other arm to give this one a break of its continuous drug intake. He tourniquet Hermione's left arm, sterilized the site with rubbing alcohol, and was just about to prick her when he confessed, "By the way, we leave this part to the interns and the nurses, so I may have forgotten how to do this properly." He sent her a cheeky smile as she jerked her face towards him: "_Excuse me?_"

"What?" he exclaimed, "I've been a surgeon for quite some time now, and as you can infer, I have had quite a few more important things to bother myself with remembering."

Hermione was just about to retort when Draco stuck in the needle. "All done – no _don't kick me,_Granger!"

He was being pelted with decorative pillows before he knew it.

_"__THAT'S NOT SOMETHING YOU SAY TO YOUR PATIENT, MALFOY." _

"I did it correctly, though – _oof._"

She had sent the final pillow in his direction, and he lay there on the floor by the bed, laughing as he set up rest of the IV.

"Don't worry, I'd never actually do anything that would compromise your safety." He said.

Hermione's head snapped up to meet his eyes. Her voice was low when she spoke. "Don't think saying sweet things like that will help you out of this situation, you absolute nutbag."

Despite her words, Hermione appreciated his comment. It had been so long since it seemed like someone actually cared that much about her.

As he bandaged her arm Draco smirked. It was a smirk she hadn't seen in over a decade.

She may have hated that exact look back in Hogwarts, but now it seemed she didn't mind it as much.

What she further appreciated was when his smirk softened into a smile. A small, lighthearted, genuine smile.

The room became quieter. The sun began to dim. She was just about to reach him—

And the oven timer rang. Loudly, and more shrill than they both had hoped.

And suddenly the quiet wasn't as comfortable as it had been a few seconds ago. Draco cleared his throat. "I'll go check on the cake," he said. He didn't wait for an answer, instead leaving for the kitchen.

In the room alone, she could do little more than fiddle with her hands. She noticed a drop of blood on her thumb. Looking down at what had once been the talk of their entire generation— the Muggle-born blood that could do such great magic— she couldn't help but feel sad. Had she really made the right decision to abandon her magic completely?

She didn't have the time to find an answer to her question when Scorpius was suddenly yelling for her, frantic.

"Scorpius?" she called back, suddenly standing up. The world was black for a few moments, but she shook it off. "What's wrong?"

"It's daddy!" he sobbed. He pushed the door to the master bedroom open, facing her. "You have to help daddy!"

"Malfoy!_"_ she yelled across the hall, pulling her stand with her while she tried to move as quickly as she could. "Draco, what happened?" Hermione steadied herself on the door frame to the kitchen. She had to stop herself from stepping on his fingers.

Hurriedly she took down the sack of fluid from her IV stand and tucked it under her arm to avoid another painful yank. She kneeled beside Draco's unconscious body.

"Draco? Hey— Draco wake up." She pressed her cold hands to his burning cheeks. In the corner of the room Scorpius watched, tearful. She looked in from father to son, then back to father.

"Come on, Draco, get up."

But try as she might, Draco Malfoy did not open his eyes.


	21. Chapter 21

Healer Intern Kayla Flynn didn't lose control very often. Ever since she was a young girl, she had always been on top of things. She had her lists. She had her planners. She had control.

When her mother left her at a fire department when she was barely six years old, she took control.

When her third class bully first started tormenting her, she took control.

When her grandmother first got into touch with her at age seventeen, she took control.

When her boyfriend was imprisoned for robbery and petty theft, she took control.

It was safe to say that every tragic event that occurred in Kayla Flynn's life was to the fault of everyone but herself.

And she didn't lose control very often. But when she did, it was epic.

"Yes," Kayla said into her phone, not for the first time that day, "I remember. No, you do not need to remind me about the schedule, Dmitri."

"I just don't want to messing up your opportunity, Flynn. You don't need the wrath of Healer Malfoy on you."

"I'm not an idiot, trust me."

Kayla lifted the chart in her hands, examining it. On the clipboard was the chemotherapy schedule Draco and the oncologists had set up for Hermione.

The instructions were clear, to the point, and precise. The drugs were to be administered eight times a year; every sixty six days. If Draco's intern had calculated that properly, Hermione Granger was due for another session in two days.

Kayla, along with the rest of the staff, had been informed of Draco's spontaneous vacation. He and his young son had taken to the West for time off work, to celebrate his son's birthday. Like all his interns, she had been given a set number of patients to follow up with while he was away. One of the names she was assigned to was Hermione Granger, who was said to be dismissed from the hospital, and only to be approached for chemotherapy at her home in Wizarding London's suburbs. Kayla had been trusted by Draco Malfoy with the location of the home— with strong instructions to keep the address confidential. She made a note in her schedule to visit that very house and help Hermione through her second bout of chemo the following week.

Ever since she had helped pull Hermione through the internal bleeding incident, she had gained the most trust Healer Malfoy had ever been seen giving to an intern. He had given her access to his most critical— and most interesting— cases. She had been swamped from the moment he left to begin his vacation (of all interns, she was his most promising).

Her pager rang from the side of her belt as she turned a corner into the emergency room.

"Listen, Dmitri, I have to go— see you at home. I love you, babe... bye." She hung up and turned to her first patient: a twenty year old female with head lacerations. Cause: Quidditch accident. She looked mildly disorientated, and remained silent until the moment another gurney was taken past them. That was when she began crying.

On the gurney was a seventeen year old boy. After the girl's spell had collided with the tallest ring in the arena, this boy had been stuck under the totaled Quidditch ring. He didn't survive five minutes in the hospital. Because she had finished the stitches on the girl's forehead, Kayla was told to call and inform his parents. In the corner of her eye, she saw a ministry official approach the sobbing form.

The call was not easy. The mother had had her suspicions when her son's hand had fallen off their family clock, but the news still shocked her. Once she absorbed the news she broke down and their family was urged to come to the hospital.

Healer Flynn's next case was one of Draco's scheduled surgeries. He had insisted on the date months prior, and the patient had just arrived. She was still too inexperienced to perform surgically independently, and so she was teaming up with Healer and surgeon Terry Boot for the task. He was one if the most experienced surgeons in St. Mungo's, after training through his teen years with Madame Pomfrey in the hospital wing before, during, and after the Battle of Hogwarts. Healer Susan Bones was assisting as the healer from Ob/Gyn.

She met the patient, Penelope Weasley (née Clearwater) in the maternity ward. Beside her stood Percy — holding her hands— Molly, Arthur, a pregnant Ginny, Ron, and George Weasley. Kayla tried not to gush in the presence of the Hogwarts war heroes.

She went over the information with them once again, as she introduced Healer Boot to the case, "The baby's intestines have stuck themselves outside of the body, through a hole beside the belly button. Soon after the baby is born, surgery will be needed to place the organs inside the body and repair the wall. This was the part meant to be performed by Healer Malfoy. Healer Bones is here for the C-Section."

"Understood," Healer Boots said, smiling. He turned to Penelope— "Do you have any questions about the procedure?"

She nodded, sullen. "Will I be able to hold my baby before you take her away from me?" Percy beside her looked hopeful.

Bones looked to Boot, and they had their answer. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Weasley, but we really can't let you. She has to be taken directly into another OR."

Penelope nodded, tears welling up in her eyes. "I understand." She said, and they prepared her for surgery.

The cesarean section went by with no complications. The baby was delivered and both parents were overjoyed at the sound of their newborn daughter crying. They named her Molly, after her beautiful grandmother— and hardly had a second with her before she was whipped away into another operating room.

The baby was proving to be quite difficult to operate on. It seemed that everything that possibly could have gone wrong, went wrong.

Three hours later Healer Boot was leaving, preparing to scrub out of his operating gown.

"A Perfect Storm," Boot muttered as he tucked away the last of the intestines, and stepped away to let Kayla close the small body. "That's what you call it when it all turns to shit."

She only nodded, and began closing the small body up. With no more words to exchange Boot left the OR, and left Kayla to inform the new parents on the state of their newborn child.

She knocked on the private room's door. "Mr. and Mrs. Weasley," she called, and brought the attention of Percy and Penelope to herself. "Your daughter has just come out of surgery. She's doing well—"

The tension of the room visibly lessened. Percy had his head in his hands, thanking Merlin. Penelope broke down crying in her mother-in-law's strong arms.

"— but we'll need to hold her in the NICU for a few days for observation."

Ginny Weasley approached Kayla, taking her into her arms and hugging her tightly. "Thank you so much, Healer Flynn." she whispered into the intern's shoulder. "Send Malfoy our deepest thanks for saving her life."

"I-I will," Kayla said, smiling at the woman.

As she was taking her leave, Kayla's pager rang, calling on her to visit the labs of the hospital.

Another thing Kayla was assigned to do while Draco was away was to keep an eye on two things.

Such was a task he had given her in private, away from all the other interns: she was to keep a close watch on baby Athena in the NICU— recovering slowly but truly— and to keep tabs on Hermione's BRP case. The confiscated jumper, still in medical custody, was the subject of her visit to the laboratory.

"Healer Flynn," the technician behind the microscope greeted her, beckoning for her to near him. "Item 4478, BR Poisoning; take a look." He swiveled away to let her close to the machine.

Kayla looked through the eye piece. The particles of the jumper were beginning to crisp away. In her year of training under Healer Malfoy, she learned that this was something that happened exclusively when cloth had had a minimum of two weeks of exposure to a mixture two liquids of particular category: Muggle alcohol and Wizarding poison.

Kayla knew this. The technician knew this. They were both also aware that alcohol not used medically or officially authorized was prohibited from entering the hospital. The rule was solid with magical wards set in place to protect patients.

"What does this mean?" She asked, and immediately felt stupid for doing so.

The he technician was going through the same thought process. It was the only possible explanation, even though it was not what she was looking for. It was not what she was hoping for. It was not what she was planning for.

At first she could hardly make herself say it out loud. She'd met the man. She'd talked to him on the hallways. She'd liked him.

"Her friend— the Muggle who came to support her— he can be the only logical suspect."

And just like that, she found herself losing control.


	22. Chapter 22

The doorbell rang at 4:28 am, only a few hours after Hermione had dozed off. She sat up groggily, only coming to when the loud, melodious chime rang through the house again.

She raced to the front door moments before the impatient visitor rang once again. "I'm coming!" she hissed. She looked into the peephole, not surprised at the person on the other end of the door.

She wrapped the silk robe that she was borrowing from Draco's closet around herself, unlocking and opening the front door.

"Susanna," she breathed, relieved to see the St. Mungo's nurse stand at the door. "Please, come in."

Earlier that day Hermione had penned a hurried letter to the Ministry of Magic, explaining Draco's situation. She had sent off the letter with Draco's owl, to the only agent who knew of the location of their witness protection.

The nurse stepped into the house as soon as the wards set by the Ministry were broken by Hermione's spoken permission. She led the older woman straight into the room Draco lay in, still as unmoving as a rock, where Hermione had transported him to— with quite some difficulty. She had taken his glasses off and placed them in the bedside table, and he hadn't even flinched.

Susanna was immediately overcome with worry.

She pulled the unconscious Draco into a seating position, and rest his head on her shoulder as she hurriedly began to remove his shirt. Despite his ventilator, she got it off safely. She set him back down on the bed and rushed to check his temperature. It was at this time that she yelled at Hermione to bring over wet towels.

She placed them over his body in an attempt to lower the raging fever that had overcome him. "Get me a fan," she demanded of Hermione, and soon it was brought over to the bedside. "Aim it at his face," she continued. "Cool him down." She continued to fuss over him as she repetitively took his temperature, hooked him up to a saline IV, and drew a blood sample.

Twenty minutes later both Susanna and Hermione stopped, panting beside Draco's sleeping form. He still had not moved over their long effort to aid his health.

It was an odd thing to see for the both of them. For Susanna, the young doctor had been introduced to the hospital after almost twelve years after she had begun working there. She had been present through his highs and lows as a healer, and she had always seen him energetic. He had always been the good looking young man who took the hospital by storm. To see him so still was unnerving and unsettling for her. It completely contradicted everything she knew about him.

For Hermione, she had always known for Draco to be a very light sleeper. After spending an entire year sharing the Prefects' dorm, Hermione knew that even the lightest of knocks on the door was enough to rouse him from his sleep.

There had been a time, when with rooms side by side, Hermione and Draco were still addressing each other by the angrily spoken titles of '_Granger_' and '_Malfoy_'. Hermione had been used to staying up late, studying much too much in order to pass her final exams, and Draco had been used to staying _out_ late, drinking eight too many drinks a night. They used to collide with one another often in the prefect kitchens at late hours, when Draco returned drunk off his ass, and Hermione got up for a bite in between studying sessions. The Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff prefects were never up that early.

Hermione had always avoided his gaze while she silently handed him cups of freshly brewed black coffee—every day, in an attempt to sober him up before bed. He probably never even remembered it. Then, every morning the day following, she would rap hardly on his door in an attempt to wake him up and ensure that he did not miss his classes. He always got up instantly, shouted off a few meaningless insults in the general direction of the door, and got up to shower.

But today he lay in bed, completely unfazed with Susanna's business.

Hermione sat at the dresser, trying to remain far from Susanna's work zone.

Susanna put the blood sample to the test with a simple spell. The results would be clear in a few hours, and for now the both women decided it was best to just keep a close eye on him. As she was scanning the muggle-born patient, Susanna decided that Hermione looked too unwell to take the first shift, and insisted she go to bed. Adamant give Susanna a fair shift, Hermione agreed. She retreated to the large rocking chair she had been fond of from the second she had laid eyes on it.

Draco's breathing was all she could hear as she rested her head on a pillow, after pulling the rocking chair beside the bed. Her eyes were still open as she called to sleep, and just before she drifted off she found herself staring at the rise and fall of his chest. His Dark Mark, not covered in his usual layer of concealer, peaked at her through his blanket. Hermione pulled the fabric up to cover the skull and snake that peered at her dauntingly. Her hand lay a mere inch away from the doctor's fingers, their fingertips almost grazing. She looked at him with worry, analysing his pale face. It was how she fell asleep beside him.

* * *

Kayla called the Ministry of Magic as soon as she got over the initial shock of it all.

Though they had not intended for it to happen, the media immediately caught hold of the information.

_Muggle UN worker and associate of Hermione's Granger, Anthony Jacobs, has been suspected of tampering with Granger's drink one night, allegedly poisoning her. The princess of Gryffindor and one of the Golden Trio of the Battle of Hogwarts, Granger has been sick and hospitalized in St. Mungo's Hospital for the poisoning for over two months today, although having been initially brought in for an accident on a highway. _

"I'm really sorry, sir. I don't know how this happened. I didn't tell anyone."

_Aurors are still on the lookout for Jacobs, and will bring him into custody as soon as he is found, although the authorities are unsure of whether Jacobs will be brought in front of Muggle or Wizarding judges. _

_That is all we have of the story, and we will get back to you as soon as we have more information. _

Kayla got off the phone with the Minister, close to tears at the thought that she may get fired before the end of the day.

She took a deep breath, picked up her phone again, and began dialling. She had to let Healer Malfoy know what was going on, otherwise his patient could be in quite some danger. She tried to phone with the number he had provided her to call him on — in case of an emergency.

This was definitely an emergency.

* * *

"_Mama..."_

_She tried to run as fast as she could, as far as she could towards that voice. It was a voice she had never heard before, but one that she knew. _

_Red flowers. White floor. Silence._

_Suddenly a young girl faced her, turning slowly away from her. She had Ron's blue eyes. Hair to her knees. A short green dress— identical to the one Hermione given away after she had miscarried. _

_She was a beautiful girl. _

_Rose held her hand out to her mother, begging her to join her. _

_"Mama, it's not safe yet."_

She woke up suddenly, eyes snapping open just as Susanna was about to tap her shoulder. It was morning, and breakfast was already in the oven.

Hermione sat up straighter in her chair, pulling the blanket Susanna had put on her to her chest. She tried to hide the tears that slowly began forming, but the nurse had already taken notice.

She didn't say anything, only putting a reassuring hand on Hermione's shoulder. She shared a sympathetic look with the younger witch, squeezing her shoulder. There was a look on her face that told Hermione that she was contemplating what to say, and then she went with: "Do not cry, Ms. Granger. Everything will be okay."

Susanna left her to check on breakfast, leaving her alone with Draco's sleeping form.

Hermione placed one hand on his arm, over the cloth that covered the Dark Mark. She held on to his wrist tightly, "Wake up soon, Draco." she whispered.

Draco responded in no way, not even with a twitch. She decided it was best to leave him be, and got up to help the nurse in the kitchen.

Susanna was baking fresh bread, which was already blossoming in the oven.

"How bad is the condition? Have the blood results come back?" Hermione asked her, settling on a barstool beside Scorpius, whose playfulness and energy had disappeared overnight. He was pushing the individual orbs of his chocolate cereal around his bowl, creating brown streaks in the milk. His breakfast seemed untouched.

"Well enough," Susanna said as she began cracking a new egg into a hot pan. It sizzled immediately. "The test indicated to no intense bacterial presence. I believe it is overwork and heat exhaustion, so he will need a few days to rest. I should be out of here in a few days."

Hermione only nodded as she watched Susanna transfer the food onto a plate, and then in front of her. Hermione, like Scorpius, also didn't feel like eating much, and stared at the egg.

"Thank you, Susanna." she mumbled.

The nurse nodded, understanding the two's sombre mood. She sat beside them in another stool by the counter.

"The two of you need to be careful. Especially when you're taking care of a child Scorpius's age." Susanna said soothingly as she placed her hand gently over Hermione's. "Perhaps it would be a good idea to get him out of the way for a while. It will be good for all three of you."

Susanna immediately saw the reluctance on Hermione's face.

"I don't want to do anything without Draco's consultation, Susanna. Scorpius is, after all, not my child to make choices for."

Both women didn't notice the small boy paying close attention to what they were saying.

"Hermione, dear, it will be for his own sake. He cannot be allowed to see his father in such a state."

"Draco might disagree. While he is not awake, I have no right to make decisions on his part— especially not when it comes to the safety of his _child_. I cannot be a part of this."

Hermione stood up from the stool, grabbed her plate and left to Draco's room, saying "I believe my shift has started."

Scorpius watched her go, and when he turned back to the nurse, she was already looking at him.

"Scorpius, do you know any one I can call to come pick you up?"

* * *

When Hermione got to the room a phone was ringing. She set her plate on the side, taking a moment to glance around the room as the ringtone sang again.

Her eyes stopped at a large duffel bag that belonged exclusively to Draco— one that she had never had reason to go through. She looked between the sleeping Draco and the bag.

Hesitantly she reached for it, and it suddenly stopped chiming. She paused, and was beginning to turn back when the ringtone began again. This time she did not hesitate, and went through the duffel.

The phone was small— a burner by the looks of it. The caller ID was blank.

Unsure if she should answer, Hermione found herself staring at the device, contemplating her options. Before she knew it, the screen turned black and the phone was silent again.

Deciding to leave it alone, she was going to put the burner where she had found it when a text came through from the same number.

'_Healer Malfoy, it's Kayla Flynn._' it read. '_I'm sorry if I've distrusted your vacation but this is an emergency. Call me as soon as you get this. It's about Ms. Hermione Granger.' _

She was curious, but wondered whether or not she should call back. It may be an emergency, but frankly no one outside of the Ministry's protective services was allowed to know that Hermione and Draco were staying at the same hideout together.

'_If it rings again,'_ she decided, '_I'll pick it up.' _

Hermione retrieved her plate from the bedside and brought it over to the rocking chair, where she sat. She lifted her legs and crossed them over in her seat. The plate went to the bed, opposite Draco, as she used his mattress as a table.

She was about to take the first bite of real food in days when she heard a loud smack. At first, she was immediately drawn to the fact that she had left Scorpius alone with a stranger that he barely knew. She was about to shoot out of her chair – and then she saw the real cause of the damage.

A black Ministry owl had collided with the master bedroom's window pane, and it lay collapsed on the sill outside. An off-white letter was attached to its leg, now slightly speckled with blood.

The burner phone began to ring again, just as Hermione was allowing the small animal inside the bedroom. She hastily set the bird onto a nearby table, careful not to injure it further. She snatched the phone off the bedside, and brought it to her ear.

"Hello?"

* * *

**End chapter.**

**A/N: Hi guys! I want to thank you for staying with me for so long. I'm really sorry that I'm only managing to dish out filler chapters, with basically nothing moving on in the plot. I have a bit of writer's block at the moment, even though I have this story planned out from start to finish. I know that the constant thrill of the story is diminishing (At least, that's what I believe), and I want to assure you that it is all for good reason. Soon, sweetlings. **

**I want to also ask you for your thoughts. I genuinely need your feedback on whether or not you like this content, and then I can adjust accordingly. **

**Thanks, and have a beautiful day! x**


	23. Chapter 23

Kayla arrived at the Malfoy residence with six Ministry officers and a great deal of protective measures for Hermione and Draco, after being informed of every aspect of the problem. Draco and Hermione were assigned two guardsmen each. Kayla, one. One more was brought to accompany Scorpius.

Hermione was assigned a MEDS— the very same talkie she had made fun of a few months earlier. It was the device used in between the doctors, nurses, and staff of St. Mungo's Hospital. The Medics' Electronic Direct Speaker system worked mainly through frequencies; Draco's, Kayla's, and now Hermione's, were tuned to the same one.

With Anthony on the loose, considered dangerous by the Wizarding government, the Aurors in charge of Hermione's safety were taking no risks.

The group had arrived shortly after dinner. Kayla and Hermione's chat had been a worrisome one, after she had admitted to the young intern that Draco was not in the best of shape.

Kayla was given authorization and a Level 4 government clearing to be informed of the problem at hand. She had been briefed in a terrifying board room by three people: the chief of surgery, Officer Blake (Hermione's ICU guard), and most dauntingly of all, the Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shaklebolt (who had recently heard of Hermione's dilemma, and had not liked the situation at all).

Shaklebolt and Hermione had always been friends of the most peculiar kind. Their platonic relationship had begun shortly after the tragedies of the day they attempted to hide Harry from Lord Voldemort— it was because of her that he was still alive. From there their friendship only progressed, until Hermione was the closest thing Shaklebolt had to a sister. Together they shared plans and secrets. He was the one who gained her access into a job at the Muggle United Nations, and the only one in the Wizarding world that had kept up contact with her.

He had been stern and brief with Kayla. She was to be on the lookout at all times for as long as she was deployed at the Malfoy mansion. She was to treat Hermione as a patient of the highest priority; Draco as a second. All orders were provided to her by the Ministry and the Ministry alone— she was forbidden from answering to anyone below eh stays of Minister. This includes Hermione, Susanna, or the hospital. She was now to be considered an employee of the Ministry, rather than St. Mungo's.

His last request —or command— to her was that she was to keep all information exclusive to herself. She was now an authorized Ministry employee of clearance level 2. She would be treated and trusted as such— it also meant she would be punished as such if she slipped up.

* * *

The guards made their posts clear almost immediately. One stood by the door of each Draco and Hermione's rooms.

The remaining four appointed themselves the effort of following the people they were trusted with.

Officer Blake found Hermione back in his custody. He followed her to everywhere she went, usually not more than two yards away. The same was for Kayla and Scorpius (who had then earned a new playmate). Draco's guard, however, found himself standing in the corner of the master bedroom, with nowhere else to go. He mainly watched every medical interaction that that Draco become a part of. He watched as official Ministry men took countless blood samples off his unconscious form, with the signature of consent provided by a proxy of Kingsley Shaklebolt.

In the meantime, Kayla was beginning to prepare Hermione for chemotherapy. She sat her down in a third guest room and examined her prior to the start of the drip. Hermione was still dependent on the Basic Muggle Potion, and so the drip would be placed on her opposite arm.

Her blood pressure and heartbeat were both stable: signs that indicated that they were all set to go.

Officer Blake watched from beside the window as Hermione climbed into bed, and was handed the primary cocktail of medication.

She was then helped into the chemo IV, and left to her own devices. Kayla's assigned officer followed her out the door.

Hermione opened a new book, which she had borrowed from Draco and Astoria's massive library upstairs.

The walls had been lined from ceiling to floor with shelves alone; none of the wallpaper was visible from where she stood until she pulled out a few novels.

She had made herself at home on the desk, comforted by the large cushions of the chair, and the enormity of the warmth that Draco's gray sweater provided her. It smelt so much like him. Susanna had brought her a large mug of hot cocoa to accompany her— and she had spent the rest of the afternoon reading until the Ministry officials came. She had put all of them down, but one.

She lay in bed immersed in that same book— one that she had read before and adored: To Kill a Mockingbird. She had read the text on the front page when she opened it for the first time: 'To the beauty of my life,' it read. 'From the light in yours. Enjoy.'

She had recognized Draco's handwriting, and couldn't help shed a tear. He had gifted it to Astoria a week before she died (if the date was any indication), and Hermione took note of the pale blue bookmark only a few pages in. Astoria had never finished it.

Before Hermione herself could get past a few chapters, she had drifted off to sleep, Officer Blake alert as she slumbered.

Kayla could be found two doors down, casting testing spells on her boss's blood work. With the help of Susanna, she had just finished the spell on the twelfth and final vial when the preliminary result came up.

His problem was not bacterial. She wrote this down in his file, and the second one was ready.

One by one, she took note of all the samples' results. One in particular shocked her. Susanna immediately noticed when Kayla's pen stopped its hasty scrawl, and then watched that same pen drop to the floor.

"Susanna," Kayla whispered. "Get me Minister Shaklebolt on the line immediately, please."

* * *

Hermione was furious when they told her.

"Ms. Granger, please," Kayla begged. "Stay in bed."

"I need to see him," she said, trying to shoot back up again, despite the black haze that surrounded her vision.

"Sir," The young healer called to Blake. "Please aid me in restraining Ms Granger, for her safety."

"Blake, don't touch me," Hermione warned, before she turned back to the doctor in training. "You don't understand. Let me see him."

Blake looked at the intern, and then back at his charge. He said, "I do not take orders from you, Healer."

In all her twenty-four years, Kayla Flynn had not been so infuriated. "No," she said, her voice steady, "You take orders from the Minister, and he has ordered you to keep Hermione Granger safe at all costs— even from herself! As her appointed physician it is my observation that she is not strong enough travel even two meters from this bed. If you make me ask it of you again, Officer, it will not be so kind!"

The man sighed and was beginning to help Kayla restrain Hermione when she broke down. "I need to see him," she whispered. "It's all my fault."

Kayla sighed. "Ms Granger, please, do not think that way." She edged away from the bed, seeing no more reason to hold her patient down. "The Minister has been informed. Poison control are on their way. They will determine whether or not the dosage is fatal."

"I can't believe someone poisoned him."

"I'm afraid it's the truth, Ms. Granger. We took all the samples we needed to confirm it. Its name is Moonseed, and it's fairly curable if found in time. Healer Malfoy may have a shot at recovery — you must let us tend to him. You would be of no help if you visit him now."

Hermione only sniffed in answer. "It's all my fault." She held her arms as though from the cold, and remained. With heavy guilt in her eyes, Kayla secured restraints on Hermione's left wrist, strapping her onto the bed post.

"I'll untie this when I believe you won't compromise your health by visiting him," she said sternly.

* * *

Poison Control was set to arrive the next morning. Hermione, sick with worry, had stopped reading her book not long after Healer Flynn had broken the news to her. The hours were long as she waited for some news about him— Was he okay? Was his health deteriorating as quickly as hers had? Or was this poison much faster than the Bloodroot? She scanned all the information she had of poisons she had in her mind. She couldn't remember anything about Moonseed. As she tried to search for an answer for what was happening, Hermione heard a knock at the door.

Both Blake and she looked up to see who had entered the room. Hermione was expecting to see the intern or Susanna. Instead, leaning gracefully on the doorframe, was Narcissa Malfoy. She wore a cloak of expensive black cotton, and beneath it a velvet green dress of the Slytherin shade.

"Mrs. Malfoy," Hermione muttered, confused. "What are you doing here?"

"It's a pleasure to see you, too, darling." Narcissa smiled.

"Forgive me, I meant no disrespect." Attempting to stand for Draco's mother, Hermione moved to get up. Narcissa saw the movement and tutted empathetically. "Don't try to move, child. I've been informed of your health. I'm only here to pick up my Scorpius, and I would like to thank you deeply. I hear you've been quite gracious to him."

Startled, Hermione met Narcissa's eyes. This was the woman whose sister had left a horrid scar on her arm. The woman whose husband had sworn allegiance to the Dark Lord. The woman whose son had saved her life— and she was thanking her. She didn't know how to respond. She said nothing.

In the silence, Narcissa spoke again. "Draco has told me quite a bit about you," she said slowly. "I'm sure you're aware, his opinion of you has changed immensely."

Hermione nodded.

Narcissa moved towards the bed, sitting on the edge by the girl's legs. "I want to thank you, dear. For taking care of him and Scorpius. They both need it so much."

Tears welled in Hermione's eyes; she looked down to conceal them. Hands still cuffed to the sides of her bed, the tears fell into the covers. "But it's my fault Draco's hurt. I endangered his life my keeping him as my doctor. Did they not tell you?"

Narcissa's hand came up to gently push up Hermione's chin. "My dear child," she whispered. "Don't you see?" She made Hermione's eyes meet hers. "It's quite the opposite. You didn't endanger his life. No— you saved it."

* * *

**So today I learnt that Astoria, in the canon universe, was actually against Muggle hate. Draco apparently also began to believe this. Sweet.**

**Let me know if I have any canon-to-fiction continuity errors. I'm awful with remembering little details.**

**Also, please let me know what parts of the writing you like best. You like fluff? Leave a comment about it and I'll provide you more! My plot is not flexible, but my writing style is, and I'm all for providing for you guys. Let me know what you hate/what you want to see more of, and I'll do the best I can!**

**Thanks again for tuning in. I love you all :) **_


	24. Chapter 24

**Hey guys! This chapter has been severely edited, because I wasn't happy with it the first time around. **

**There have been a few new scenes added, which make the story more comprehensible. Enjoy!**

* * *

What surprised him the most about the slumber was the eerie silence. Too much peace. The deafening quiet. Whiteness. No dreams. He didn't like it.

The silence reminded him of hours spent in dark closets. Waiting for the ground to stop reverberating every crash on the ground. Every new vase broken. Every ceramic sculpture thrown.

His father. He could now hear him pounding up the stairs, trying to find his son. Slamming open every room door, closet, and bathroom. Until he found him. Draco: laying crying in a puddle of blood. Holding himself, trying not to lose consciousness. A six year old at most, bleeding like a fallen warrior. Running out of oxygen. Dehydrated and scared. Punished for hiding. Punished for crying. Punished for existing.

The horrors of his broken childhood haunted Draco even while he slept.

* * *

The only reason Kayla had set up another bed beside Draco was because Narcissa Malfoy had insisted. A strong and passionate woman, she didn't take no for an answer. Hermione had been freed of her restrictive cuffs, and left to roam the house.

Before leaving with Scorpius, Narcissa had made sure of both her son's and Hermione's safety. Then, she took her grandson to another Malfoy family hideout.

Hermione, left alone in the master bedroom with Draco, could see how uncomfortable his sleep was. His face was strained, his eyebrows knit together. Sad cries passed his lips— little did she know it, but he was begging his father for his life. She held his hand in her two, stroking the back of it to calm him down. His skin was warmer than it had been the day before.

It was the middle of a cold and windy night. The window by the bed rattled at the pressure. The sound was disturbing.

The guards of Poison Control were due any minute. Shacklebolt had sent a secure owl with a letter— "be alert."

Kayla was in bed in a guest room close by. Susanna had disappeared into the house, tailed by her own guard. No doubt she had gotten tired and dozed off on one of the halls' sofas. Two of the four guards assigned to Hermione and Draco stood side by side, stiff and unmoving. The other two were by the lobby, awaiting the visitors.

The two guards were avoiding her gaze as Hermione entered the room, and settled into the chair by Draco's bed. She took the cloth from his forehead to place her hand on it to check his temperature. Despite all of Susanna and Kayla's efforts, his fever was still strong.

It was then that she began to notice the effects of his illness: His eyes were red-rimmed. His ribs were beginning to show. His well toned body was beginning to weaken. He was pale, more than ever before. Almost as pale as the day she had seen him in Madame Pomfrey's medical wing in sixth year.

She remembered her horror like it was yesterday.

Hermione had been on her way to Potions class when she was pushed into a wall by a swarm of students. When she had looked at one of the paintings quizzically, it had informed her that Snape was not in class, but on the way to the hospital wing. When the crowd had parted for the Potions professor to pass through, she understood why.

He had been sopping wet, the body of a student in his arms. She would have thought it was one of the Weasley siblings, because his hair had been matted onto his head and the only colour she saw was red. The boy's face told a different story.

Draco Malfoy, dripping blood onto the floors of Hogwarts as he was carried to see Madame Pomfrey.

She had seen him again the next day, when she went to renew her supply of medication. Her attention was caught when a house elf was pulling away a waste bin overflowing with bloodied bandages. He had been sleeping, trying to heal. She had seen his chest, wrapped tightly in bandages. She had heard the rumours and when she saw him, could confirm it. Draco had been hit with a curse just as bad as the Cruciatus Curse within the school's halls.

Hermione had pulled back the curtain slowly, exposing to her the full extent of his torture.

He was white as a ghost. His hair matched his complexion. His eyes had dark purple circles beneath them. His lips, once the most kissable in all of Hogwarts, were tinged with blue. His brow was shining with sweat, and blood still stained his hair.

The Severing Charm. She could place its damage.

She had found herself staring at his chest when new spots of blood blooming from below the many layers of bandaging. She had been about to call Madame Pomfrey when she heard his voice, lower than she'd ever heard it. "What do you want, Granger? Come to gloat?"

She didn't reply, only shaking her head.

"Well, then, what are you doing standing here for? Get out of my sight." He hadn't sounded very menacing, but Hermione had obliged.

Those memories came back to her as she looked upon him now. A father, doctor, and widower. Innocent. Undeserving of such pain.

She turned away from him when it became to hard to look. She picked up her book and began to read. A large grandfather clock struck twice outside. By the time the clock struck four, there was a loud knock at the door.

Both officers kept their hands behind their back. It was a show of feign calmness; Hermione was sure they were both gripping their wands. They only eased when Officers Blake and Shelton came to the door. Hermione urned to see five of Shaklebolt's officers, in deep purple robes and shining badges. The embossed Ministry symbol stood out distinctly in gold. Their wands were all stamped with COMPUTE— The Control of Magical Poisons Unit Through Enforcement.

"Ms Granger." she heard. "Please step aside from Healer Malfoy."

She obeyed, hands in the air in a show of surrender, letting the officials get to work.

Hermione knew how Moonseed worked. It trapped itself onto the host's fluids, leeching off of them until its victim was too dehydrated to survive. The only way to repel the poison was through extraction. Blood, sweat, marrow, and saliva of the victim had to be removed under the strictest of environments.

The COMPUTE agents cast silencing spells, and began to set up barriers between Draco and the outside world.

* * *

The day his mother fell down the stairs was the day Draco decided he wanted to be a **doctor**.

He had been three days away from returning to Hogwarts for his sixth year. His bags were packed, his supplies were bought, waiting by the door of the manor.

Lucius had been furious about supper. It was a minor detail Draco didn't remember— something about the plums. The yelling phase took an hour. The throwing phase came immediately after that. The hitting phase was later, four hours after Lucius had stomped away from a quiet Narcissa. It was when she came to apologize for her perceived mistake.

Draco had been noticing such a pattern since he was old enough to understand patterns. Yell. Throw. Hit. Pretend it never happened. Silence for days. Repeat. The endless cycle of abuse.

Draco had heard the commotion before he saw it. He had heard his father's loud, unforgiving voice. Narcissa begging for mercy. She had hired the servers that evening— what more did he want? Then came the thumping as his mother had tumbled down the tens of marble Malfoy Manor stairs.

His father had remained upstairs, pleased with the silence that followed. Draco had helped her Apparate to St. Mungo's where she had been discreetly treated for three broken fingers, an unsightly facial gash, and broken ribs.

That was when he had decided.

Little was he to know of the tragedies that would fall onto him that same year.

* * *

When Hermione woke up many hours later, Susanna was checking on her vitals. The COMPUTE agents were seated in a line by the wall, their hoods pulled over their eyes. The beaming sun only cast dark shadows over their faces. They all say still, hands on their laps, and heads bent towards Draco. They whispered prayers— or spells. It was hard to decipher.

"How are we today, Ms. Granger? Sleep well?" Susanna smiled at her patient. Hermione nodded, clearing her throat. "How long have they been here?"

Susanna paused, and then got fairly quiet, "Well I'm pretty sure it's been twelve hours, miss, give it take. They've been at it since I walked in here this morning. Won't even respond to my hello."

Hermione hummed, and whispered back, "It's a bit odd. Anyways, have they said anything about Malfoy? How's he doing now?"

Susanna bustles around Hermione's bed, smoothing over the sheets as she talked. "Well, I'm not at liberty to say, miss. That information is confidential to only Healer Flynn and the Minister himself, and the agents will only inform you with the consent of one of them."

"In that case, bring me Flynn."

Susanna left with a nod, and Hermione turned to the agents of the Ministry. They did not address her even as she came closer.

"Agents," Hermione started, "Can you tell me how he is?" She turned to face the bubble of magic Draco was stranded in. "I would like to know."

The humming stopped. The silence was unsettling, and it was broken only by the COMPUTE in the middle. The agent's hood slid down to reveal shining brown hair and blue eyes. An eerie beauty. "What is your relation to the patient?" She asked.

Hermione stiffened, saying, "I know I'm not close enough to him for you to tell me, I know that. And I understand it. But please, _please_, I need to know. I'm not his wife, or his sister, or relative. He doesn't have any of those. But he does have me, and plea-"

"Ms. Granger," the stranger said, cutting her off. "What is your relation to the patient?"

Hermione looked away from where Draco's bed was, into the eyes of the agent. "I'm his friend."

* * *

"Minister Shaklebolt," Kayla was saying as Susanna entered the room. The nurse remained at the doorway, silent. "The COMPUTE agents just broke the news to me. I'm afraid he's not going to improve very fast. Their process will be slow and agonizing, and the moment he wakes will be the moment to rejoice, but at the moment all they can do is keep him comfortable. They say if he survives the morning, he should be alright, but sir, I'm afraid it doesn't look like he'll make it."

Susanna's heart pounded. Her eyes widened. Malfoy wasn't doing very well.

"Of course, sir, unless you want to deploy the special— oh, my apologies sir." she stopped talking for a moment, listening to the voice over the line. It carried a reprimanding tone. "I understand, sir. It won't happened again. And I'll inform Ms. Granger."

Just as she was about to hang up, Susanna knocked. She tried to make it seem as though she weren't listening in. She didn't know if the young doctor bought it.

"Flynn, Ms. Granger is asking for you. It's about Healer Malfoy," Susanna informed her before taking her leave. Kayla nodded, replying that she'd be right there. She watched as the nurse retreated, and then sat at the writing desk to pen the Minister a very concerned letter.

* * *

He didn't understand why he could suddenly hear her voice. A voice he'd hated all through school, that had at one point become his escape.

But she sounded so sad. He wished he could reach up to comfort her.

_"What is your relation to the patient?_" he heard an unfamiliar voice say. He was curious to how she'd respond. Were they really progressing into something more that friendship?

But she started blabbering instead of answering. He wanted to laugh. It was so like her, but so unlike her, in so many different ways.

He heard the question spoken again, and there was a long silence to punctuate it.

_Lie to her, Hermione. Say what she wants you to hear. Say anything, I don't care. _

"_I'm his friend," _she said instead.

_You idiot, _he thought, almost laughing. The answer he was expecting came: "_I'm afraid I cannot provide you with that information, Ms. Granger."_

_"Can I at least see him? Please?" _

_Yes, _Draco thought, _Yes please. _

_"Of course, but only for a short amount of time. And prepare yourself."_

There was shuffling of magic, and a wave of cold air came to hit could smell her perfume as she came in, and immediately it brought his heart rate up. They all heard it on his monitor.

Hermione's heart pounded for another reason entirely.

She saw him worse than he'd ever been before. He was badly bruised - everywhere. Gashes were healing, slowly. They covered his body. His blood stained the sheets in tiny puddles. She took his left hand, the lesser bruised. The Dark Mark snarled up at her, but like its host, it was weak, bleeding, and dying. Draco wanted to squeeze her hand, to let her know that she needn't worry. He tried it, but nothing happened. His fingers remained limp in her hand.

He felt the soft kiss she placed by his temple, and the fingers that stroked away his hair.

"Will he get better?" she whispered. Draco heard. _What- what was wrong with him? Was she crying?_

None of the agents spoke, only turning to each other in question.

"Please tell me," Draco heard. Her voice was low, her hands holding on tight. "You asked my relationship to him - I love him. I love him so much, words can't describe. That must account for something!"

_She loves me._

The same agent cleared her throat. "Are you married to him?"

_I love you, too. _

"No, please, please. It must account for something." She was sobbing now; Draco felt her tears drop onto his arm. "He's dying isn't he?"

_I'm dying._

Their silence confirmed it, and Hermione understood.

"I'm very sorry for your loss, Ms. Granger." The agents filed out to provide the two with privacy.

"Draco," he heard Hermione say. "Can you hear me? It's going to be okay." Soft lips pecked his. "You'll see Astoria again."

_I don't want Astoria. I need Scorpius. _He was panicking now. _Scorpius, and you. Hermione Granger, I want you. _

Her lips touched his again, this time wet with tears she didn't swipe away.

* * *

The agents were silent when Kayla entered the master bedroom. There was a soft hum she could hear, which she placed as Hermione's voice as she got close enough to identify it. She was singing. It was an old melody, one that mothers sang to their children. Hermione was singing it by Draco's the bubble, the two of her patients were alone. She didn't come closer.

"_Dancing bears,_" Kayla heard as she came closer to her patients.

"_Painted wings."_ Her voice was clear, soft, sad. It was at this moment Kayla realized that Hermione knew. Draco wasn't going to be alright.

"_Things I almost remember_," Hermione spoke the words as she placed her warm hands on Draco's cold arm. None of the agents had to her when his condition got too serious - it was evident.

"_And a song—_" The young doctor didn't want to interrupt their time together. The guards and agents remained quiet, the room somber. The only other sound was the monitor, it's beeping deteriorating.

"_Someone sings,_" Hermione choked on the lyrics, a sob in her throat. A tear fell onto Draco's arm just as he flatlined.

"_Once upon a December."_


End file.
